


With Love; A Harem

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie is a queen, Absurd, Certified nonsense and tom foolery, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Love, Romance, absolute debauchery, the men worship her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10595925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: Abbie Mills is in a very loving open relationship with several men. They all love her, and have a level of respect and for the other men in her life, in some cases even friendship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow
> 
> This is not canon.
> 
> Forget everything you know about these men except that they are played by really really handsome gents in real life.
> 
> But Orion might still be an angel, because.  
> And Ichabod is still rip van winkle, because.

They stagger.

Backwards, into the wall, crash. "Mmph!"

His lips mould to hers, he presses into her, his whole body aligning.

"Oh," her breath puffing against his ear when he breaks away, searching for that spot, that sweet, tender spot that illicits, " _Oh_ ," She feels him smiling into her skin, his hands busily wedging behind her, grasping the zipper. He pauses and spins her around, she braces herself against the wall. She feels him leaning his entire weight into her a promise prodding against her behind. He abandons the zipper just to trap her there, between the wall and him. He runs his hands upwards, cupping and squeezing through the fabric. She tosses back her head, panting for breath. He kisses her temple and lets his hands travel down to her waist, he tugs her against him and she gasps.

"I've got so many plans for you," he growls. She laughs breathily.

"I'm counting on it."

He makes quick work of the zipper, pushing the straps down her shoulders, following the trail with his lips. "You smell so good,"

"Wore it for you,"

 _"Abbie_."

She spins abruptly, twining her arms around him, one hand fisting in his hair as she pulls him down to her level. "Show me what you got."

* * *

 

A beautiful, bright, spring day. Sunshine pooling in through the window, through even the curtains. She feels the heat of it bathing her face. She scrunches her eyes shut. "Oh my head." she murmurs. "What happened---"

* * *

 

" _Another round!"_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"I'm grown, give me another,"_

_"Abbie."_

_"Have fun with me. Drink up!"_

_"What the lady wants she gets"_

_Their glasses raise in a toast_.

_Clink!_

* * *

 

The memory comes to her in bits and flashes as she shifts and feels the heavy weight of an arm latched tight around her. She blinks again, thinking.

_"Oh."_

_His fingers digging into her skin._

_"Abbie,"_

_Her tongue twirling around his finger, sucking it into her mouth, teasing._

_"You play dirty."_

_She bites her lip innocently. "You like it."_

_He swiftly pins her hands above her head. "You know me so well."_

_Searing kisses, deep, passionate, breath stealing ones, down her neck, sucking, nipping. Her arched back, pushing herself eagerly towards his mouth._

_"Yes. Yes."_

_His hand reaching between her thighs._

_Her breath ramping up._

_His slow deep strokes._

_"Damn you." she hisses, thrashing but he holds her arms still as he watches her squirming beneath him._

_"Tell me what to do babe."_

_"More."_

_"How, much?"_

_"M-m-much, more."_

_"How."_

_"Deeper." she rasps, moaning when he obliges. "Harder,"_

_A snap of his waist._

_She jolts with shock before he sets this new rhythm._

_"Faster."_

_Sweat. Salt. Wet._

_"Faster."_

_"Say my name"_

And cries out for him. And then she sees stars.

* * *

 

Her arms ache, her being is sore. "Oh, what did you do to me," she jokes as she shifts creakily around the mattress. His arms tug her closer against him. He's awake, but so is something else."Oh. Hello there," she laughs. She feels his muscular chest against her back as he raises himself up behind her.

"Nothing you didn't want," he answers darkly, grazing her shoulder with his teeth. She reaches a hand up, resting against his cheek.

"I needed it." she breathes, turning around she locks her lips with his, pulling him close, their tongues twine together a moment before she pulls away. She places lingering loving kisses on his cheek."Thank you."

Beneath the sheets his fingers skim over her skin, moving upwards to brush against the sides of her breasts tenderly. He smiles at her and his eyes dance with affection. "The pleasure's all mine, babe. You know that."

She smiles fondly back at him and then winces. "We hit the bottle hard huh."

"That was your idea," he cajoles, moving to swing out of the bed.

"I had a rough week!" she hollers back.

He grins at her. "Is that the excuse you're going to use every weekend?"

"Shut up,"

"You joining me in here?" he asks, motioning towards the shower.

"Promise to behave?"

"You know you do _not_ keep me around to promise I'll behave. Come on." he chuckles, extending a hand to her. She rises, letting the sheets fall from her body and stalks towards him in all her nakedness and then pauses.

"You smell something?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I think Brooks is making breakfast. Hawley's taking you out today."

"And you? what are your duties to me today?"

"Getting you squeaky clean,"

She raises a brow. "You up to the task?"

"As sure as my names Luke Morales. Get in here." he tugs her towards him, and then easily lifts her in his arms marching into the bath.

* * *

 

Crane laid out an outfit for her while in the shower with Luke. Ever the gentleman, at times maddeningly cordial, he'd had Luke's things laundered too. His bag neatly packed. Luke's going home until next Monday. And coincidentally, Crane will be staying in his place. She's not quite sure how they came up with a an agreement, but she's glad she's not in charge ofmanaging it. Although taciturn as he is, she's almost positive the whole idea of a rotation was Crane's idea. Familiar with the routine by now, Luke had already draped himself in a robe before stepping out of the bathroom behind Abbie, knowing Crane would be waiting on the other end with towel and Abbie's lotions to help her get dressed. He'd bobbed his head at him.

"Thanks Crane," he'd said, grabbing his bag at the bedroom door and snatching up his clothes and hurrying down the hall to get dressed in the guest.

"A pleasure, Mr. Morales. Now, Miss Mills," he'd said warmly, turning towards her. "Hair up, or down?"

"You fuss too much over me," she says, shedding the towel and reaching for the lotion she begins to rub the sweet smelling concoction into her skin. She glances over at Crane's flushed face and restless fingers. "Would you like to help?" she offers. He sighs gratefully and gestures for her to sit at the edge of the bed. He takes gentle tender care with her feet, massaging her limbs as he goes along, up her thigh, dropping a light kiss here and there as he goes. He motions for her to turn over, propping her rear end up in his face but he doesn't miss a beat and she doesn't laugh as his strong fingers rub across her firm backside, and a kiss per cheek.

"Crane," she gently admonishes and rolls back over in time to see him offering her a small smirk. "You're going to have plenty of time with me. Don't make a mess of me---I just bathed."

He gives her a look of faux innocence. "I wouldn't dream of delaying your outing with Mr. Hawley." he drawls in a none to convincing fashion before leaning in and pecking her nose. "Now, how about you let me do your back. Or shall I do your front?" he asks saucily.

"Oh Crane." she groans. "What am I going to do with you?"

"A lot I hope," he continues, nonchalant. "I have a lot of pent up, _energy_ , you might say."

"Promises, promises." she dismisses him.

"Ones I intend to keep." he rumbles. She holds his gaze before landing a quick kiss on his mouth.

"Come on, I need clothes." she hurries.

"When one looks as you do I see no reason why," he muses, but he holds out her underwear for her to step into anyway.

* * *

 

"Morning Abbie." Andy looks up from the stove when she walks in, there's a plate of pancakes and bacon sizzling. Luke's cramming a pancake in his mouth as he grabs a travel mug of coffee.

"Headed out babe, have fun." he whirls on Andy, and Nick Hawley who just got in, helping himself to some eggs. "Take care of our girl, right?" Luke turns back towards Abbie. He takes a bite, swallows and then a swig as he looks her over. "I don't like to say it but Crane knows what he's doing. Turn around let's have a look at you."

"I did dress myself before you, any of you, you know." she points out as she gives a small turn.

"I know, babe. I'm just giving credit where's it's due. Devils in the details he would say, right? Bye." he pecks her cheek and she gives him on in turn as he dashes out he's got a hiking trip that starts this weekend.

"Be safe!" she calls. He waves at her before he gets in the car.

Abbie turns back towards Andy now shutting off the stove and making her coffee. He approaches with a hot mug and places it carefully in her hands. He smiles kindly at her. "Morning Andy," she whispers, she takes a sip and lets her eyes close in appreciation. " _Oh_ , Andy. It's perfect."

His face colours. She lays her hand on the side of his face and he leans into it. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"I'll think of something," he assures her with a wink before nodding over at the man who's been waiting for her all morning. Hawley leans back in the chair, shaking out his shoulders.

"My compliments to the chef my man."

Andy turns around and gives a bob of his head. "Appreciate it Nick."

"Abbie, you look great."

"Morning Hawley."

"Come on, let's get you fed and then we're going antiquing."

"Antiquing!" she chortles.

"You heard me." he replies, eyes dancing. "You're in good hands with me Mills you know that. Now, what would you like," he asks, grabbing a plate and adding things to it as she calls for them. Crane comes down shortly after and helps himself to a cup after exchanging a round of greeting with the other gentlemen.

"My word. Mr. Brooks, this coffee," he makes a gesture of approval.

"It won't stand up to your tea, Crane. But I'll take the compliment."

"Are you here this week Mr. Brooks?"

Andy shakes his head. "I leave Monday morning, Calvin will be here though."

"Ahh, yes, Master Riggs. So, Hawley, where are you taking our Miss Mills today?"

"Antiquing, although you're a life sized relic yourself," he teases.

Crane quirks his mouth. This has all been going on long enough that even when they do get on the others nerves, it's almost playful. " _Touche_ ,"

Andy comes over to her as she finishes her plate, she's just been listening while this all goes on and quietly eating. He sits beside her at the breakfast bar, rests a hand gently on her knee. "Hey," she says softly.

"Luke said you had a lot to drink last night." his brow furrows in concern. "Anything I can get you to help?"

"The food and coffee was plenty, thank you," she presses her lips to his cheek.

"I'll make dinner?"

"I don't know exactly what Hawley has planned after we go shopping,"

"Keep me posted." he smiles warmly, and then kissing her forehead, he clears her dishes.

"Well Mills. Ready?"

Abbie rises from her seat and waves at the other two men. "Let's roll, Hawley."

He winks at her and offers his arm. "I'll try to bring her back in one piece fellas," he calls over his shoulder.

"There will be _fisticuffs_ if you don't, rogue," Crane says casually, idly picking at his nails.

Laughing, Hawley gets the door and Abbie follows him out.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventure

They set off down the street, his arm slung around her shoulder laughing as he tells her about the nonsense on his last trip. As they go they see Joe trudging up his driveway and Hawley blows the horn.

Blearily Joe lifts his head in their direction, hand up to his eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun. "Just getting in Joe?" Abbie calls. He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. Keeping the hours he does, he probably gets the least time with her. His off days always conflict with someone's existing plans. Nick makes a taking sound.

"Whens your next holiday man?"

"When I'm dead?"

Nick pulls a frown. "Call up Rip Van Winkle, see if he can switch around somebody. Not _me_ , mind you." he gives a cheshire grin and Joe waves him off.

"Where's this one taking you?" he asks as he saunters toward the car, leaning on her side.

"Antiquing" she air quotes. Joe mimics her and turns a puzzled gaze on Hawley.

"I'm not saying boo. It's a surprise. Get some rest Joe. Have a good day" he gives a small salute and Joe pats the car.

"Have fun!" he waves, ambling back towards his door. As they speed off Abbie settles back in her seat leaning into Nick.

"A surprise?"

He grins wickedly. "Do you trust me?"

She snorts. "Hell no!"

"Aww Mills, you wound me."

"If not me the others if you get me in trouble----"

"Oh who do you think you're fooling," he nudges her lightly and snatches up her hand, roughly kissing her hand.

"Luke said something like that this morning. I'm just a mischievous imp to all of you, aren't I."

"Nah. You're just more fantastic than we can adequately handle on our own. Trust me or not, I spent time planning today. So you're gonna love it."

"Or what?"

Nick screws up his mouth trying not to laugh. "Think ole man Crane threatened me with pistols at dawn or something didn't he?"

Abbie playfully swats his shoulder and turns her face up to the sun.

* * *

 

He smells like sandal wood and musk. She can hear water. She inches along tentatively, shuffled forward by Nick sidling behind her, his hands clapped protectively over her eyes. The feel of the ground changes to the hollow slap of wood. The crunch of grains of sand beneath the soles of her shoes"One more step, there." she feels him uncover her eyes and reach for her hands instead, twining their fingers together. "You can open them Mills," he implores, lips touch softly on her temple.

Abbie bites her bottom lip instead and takes a deep breath. "You sure I'm going to like this?"

He cross her arms before her, wrapping his own around herwaist in the process. "Open them." with an exaggerated sigh, she does. The drive had been little over an hour, the clock inching towards noon. They're at a dock,just off the beach. Yachts, skippers, casual, nondescript boats fill the line, bobbing in the eddying water. But not their vessel.

"What----how----"

"It's something isn't it?"

"Is this actually----Hawley where on earth did you find a pirate ship?"

"Sssh. Some secrets are mine to keep."

"You said we were---" she protests weakly, already drawn to the shining bright figurehead on the bow. It's face with the full carved lips, the generous bust tapered into a waist that vanishes into the bow. Polished, brilliant catching the light,looks familiar. "Is that me?" she asks, voice small in surprise.

"You like it? Named after you. The S.S Grace. I've been salvaging some parts----"

Her eyes widen. "Wait. Hawley. Are you saying you built a pirate ship?"The flags above, it has ever loving flags, wave happily in the breeze,

"So much for secrets." He sweeps an arm grandly before her. "Shall we board?"

"You said-----"

"Antiquing, yes, I didn't say where. I hear there's treasure in these parts. What do you say, be my pirate Queen for the day."

* * *

 

She still can't quite believe it, but there she is, standing in this impossible, unreal thing existing in modern day. Well, she thinks of Crane back at the house, long coat and good manners----maybe not entirely impossible---but unexpected, even for Hawley. "You've out done yourself," she murmurs, swirling a glass of wine in one hand as she looks out in the distance. Nick is standing at the wheel, his white collared shirt half open and the wind ruffling his blond hair and when Abbie takes in his visage, the scruffy beard and all, the slightly wind blasted look on his face, he does look every bit like a sailor of the seven seas. She smiles secretly to herself as she saunters towards him, hooking an arm around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. "So this is why I didn't see you for nearly two months?"

He grimaces. "It was work too. I told the guys to keep you busy, so you wouldn't notice. I just wanted today to be special."

Abbie leans up and peers at him, pretending to scrunch her brow in an expression of thought. "Why, what's today."

"I don't blame you if you didn't remember," he says. "Our anniversary."

She smiles at him. "What makes you think I didn't remember?"

"Well-----"

"I demanded Crane make time for you this weekend." she nuzzles against him. "He had Orion slated in instead. I think he meant to punish you for being away."

"He's right. Even planning this. I shouldn't have abandoned you."

"Happy Anniversary, Nick."She leans up, turning his head towards her and moulds her lips to his. Releasing the wheel his hands come up to her waist and he holds her close, deepening the kiss, a hand twining in her hair. When the wind catches the sails and the boat starts to veer off course is when he staggers away, righting himself and regaining control. "Sorry," she apologizes but she's clearly not.

He gives her a sly small. "Are you my Pirate Queen or the Siren out to drive me to my doom?" he answers his own question before she can, "No, just the woman of my heart. In all her shades. Happy Anniversary Abbie. But it's not over yet. Look,"

Floating in the water is a buoy and something tied around it. Abbie frowns. "I feel like you're not supposed to do that,"

"Sssh." he coaxes as he steers towards it and then calls over to her. "Come on, take the wheel," Abbie splutters, wine sloshing over the rim as she grasps the handles in her hands and Nick grabs rope, tying it securely about himself. Abbie catches on what he plans to do a second to late. "Nick no!" she yells but he's already swan dived over. "Nick!"

Panic rears up in her frantically when there's no answer but she doesn't know if she can chance the vessel going out of control. When she calls for him again she can take it no longer and abandons post, running for where she saw Nick dive and curses long and loud to see him breaking the surface, tugging along behind him of all things, an ever-loving chest.

"Hawley!" she screams at him. "I'm going to murder you when you get back up here! Don't scare me like that!"

But all Nick does is shake water from his hair and gesture for her to tug the rope that he's tied around the chest as he grasps the ladder in his hands. "Pull I'll push!"

Grumbling she stomps over to the rope and used her considerable, although compact muscle to begin heaving up the chest. The rope is rough though, and she can feel it slipping and burning her palms. Soon enough though she sees the edge of the trunk tip over on board and Nick hauls himself up after, soaked completely through. She glares at him because he has the nerve to laugh. "That wasn't----it wasn't----" she turns away from him, arms folded and vexed. His face falls as he quickly crosses the deck to her, folding her in a cold wet embrace.

"I'm sorry." he says, heartfelt. "It was never my plan to scare you, Abbie. I didn't think---"

"Didn't think what?" she snaps. "That I'd be worried? ThatI cared?" her eyes are over bright and Nick's heart sinks. Of all things, considering the situation they're all in, _willingly_ \---Abbie gets insecure that she's not showing them enough. She worries, of all, things, that one of them might feel left out, The quickest way to trigger her, is make her wonder if she's not being fair to all of them being so devoted to her----that she's failing to return their affection and level of care. Which is not to be debated, at all. Nick holds her tighter.

"I know you care, Abbie. I could never doubt it. I didn't expect you to get upset, that's all. You know me. I do stupid dangerous things, all the time."

She holds his arms clasped around her and takes deep breaths. "I never use to be emotional." she sniffles. "I blame you. All of you, for making me soft."

He kisses her neck softly breathing her in. "Let's finish celebrating hmmm? Open the trunk." he whispers. "And then we're making a stop."

"Yeah? where a hidden cove so you can go deep sea diving without warning again?"

"There's an island out here, actually," he laughs, turning her around so he can face her. "Well, short distance from a peninsula, we're just taking the scenic route. They do have, actual antiques out there." he promises, eyes glittering. "Open the chest, we'll go shopping, and then dinner and home. Okay?"

"If any of them heard about the scare you gave me today-----"

"You'd rat me out?"

She gives a small teasing smile. "Make it up to me, and I won't."

He grins. "Done and done."

* * *

 

Abbie gapes at the chest. "How legal is it for you to have any of this?" she queries, reaching in for the antiquated chalice. A heavy necklace. A sword. A damn sword. She hefts it and admires the way the sunlight glints off the blade.

"Finders keepers." he smirks. He nods toward the weapon in her hand. "Yours,"

"Hawley," she starts, "Don't play with me."

"I'm serious Mills. Found it last expedition. And you're so….so mighty, my Abbie Mills. I bet you thought I'd get you a trinket."

Abbie bites her lips together to keep from answering.

"See" he teases. "You totally underestimated me."

"It's---"

"Totally badass, like you." I mean, he shifts behind her, guiding her hand while she gives it a few practice swings. "I mean it's going to look awesome on your wall----but in a pinch, it'll also protect you." Her heart feels warm. "I had everything in here, polished appraised, whole bit. I drove out here this morning to plant it."

Abbie shakes her head. Nick Hawley is one of the more volatile men she's involved with. But when he's sweet it hits home.

"Ready to go ashore?"

"Ready," she smiles.

* * *

 

They bought a really gorgeous vanity. And an enormous leather tortoise ottoman. Because. Why not. There's also a tiny dainty little chain now dancing around her neck. They had dinner on shore----she called when they were finished to let the rest at the house know they'd be out late----and now they're back aboard, sailing quietly back home. But when they dock, Hawley takes her hand and leads her down to the captains quarters.

He strips off her clothes, carefully, slowly, chasing every bit of exposed skin with his lips. He pauses, taking up her hands, and rubs them gently, kissing, gently licking all of the places the rope had chafed before he winds her arms around his neck. He tastes, she thinks absurdly, of salt and wind, like the sea, like a damn pirate. His callouses fingers make her skin hum. She clutches him tight, memorizing the ripple and cording of his frame as she picks her up, and backs her into a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. She pauses, gripping his hair she pulls him back gently. "Today was," she searches for the word, fails to find it. "So beyond,"

He smiles at her, before leans back in, kissing her jaw, back to her open mouth, and then pulls back, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth. His hands shift to cup her behind and he turns, throwing her on the bed. She bounces once before he's on top of her, parting her legs with a wicked look on his face. "I'm gonna make sure they can hear you back at the house." he taunts.

"Nick---oh _God_ ,"

He adds another finger and she squirms.

"Close but not quite,"

"Nick---- _Oh_ ,"

"What if I---"

" _Yes._ **_Please,_** "

He withdraws his fingers and Abbie glares at him before she sees him grazing his nose along her thigh and upwards. And then there's his tongue.

She shouts and feels him chuckling as he continues his amorous assault.

"You're a bastard---" shepants when she unravels the first time, body heaving as he surges over her and reaches in a drawer.

"Yeah. But I'm yours"

She looks down appreciatively at him, "All, mine."

* * *

 

Birds, this morning, and more tangled sheets. Hawley is standing on the deck, face turned up to the sun when she emerges in his shirt. "You're going again, aren't you."

He winces as he extends an arm to her. "Last trip for the season." he promises, kissing her hair. She breathes deep, inhaling his smell.

"Bring me something badass."

He tosses back his head and laughs, lifting her in the air as he does. "You'll be armed to the teeth."

* * *

 

Crane glances up from his reading when he hears her coming in. He calls for her without moving. "Had fun, Miss Mills?"

She startles and shyly steps into the kitchen where he has set aside his book and looks at her with amusement. "Gone all hours with that _scoundrel."_

"I did," she concedes, only then Crane notices her hiding something behind her back.

"What----"

"A sword."she beams, brandishing it in the air like a swashbuckler. Crane gapes at it.

"I think---"

"Oh come on Crane if you say 'I've seen this sword before'" Hawley grouses, lugging in the ottoman and Crane heads to the door to help.

"You really went antiquing." he says, shocked.

"Among other things," Nick winks. Crane rolls his eyes.

"I'll need help with the vanity next."

Crane cracks his fingers and follows Nick out to the truck to unload the other piece of furniture.

The backyard door opens and Andy steps inside, shirtless and sweaty. "Abbie!" he exclaims upon seeing her. "Sorry I was doing yard work."

He steps closer but hesitates, remembering his dripping skin. "Out there is hotter than it looks." he says, rubbing the back of neck.

"It is." Crane quips from where he helps Nick bring in the vanity at the front door. "I do hope you're wearing sunscreen---you roast at the slightest provocation"

Andy opens his mouth to protest, but it's the truth. He shrugs with a smile instead. "He's right." he admits.

"Sorry I couldn't make it home for dinner," she apologizes, reaching for his hand. His eyes crinkle with warm understanding.

"You and Nick's anniversary. I understand. How was it?"

"Ah, what did we say about kissing and telling fellas!" Nick interrupts. Abbie rolls her eyes and mouths to Andy 'It was lovely'.

"So, had time to think about what we're doing today?"

Andy's dark eyes shimmer as he bends his head down to her. _"Plenty_." he tucks a strand behind her ear.

"Do you require assistance getting ready----" Crane starts but Abbie cuts him off.

"No, but thank you, Crane, really. But Andy will help me today." she turns her brown doe eyes on him. "If you don't mind?"

"Let me just get cleaned up. I'll meet you upstairs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up to bat John Cho! I mean ANDY! and then Crane.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS SONG IS MY FAVE 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MwpdjbMucI

Abbie kisses Hawley bye at the door and Crane graciously returns to his reading. The sound of water running is Andy in the shower. She goes to the kitchen and digs out the strawberries, blueberries and some grapes, washing and depositing them in a bowl before she ascends the stairs and goes to her room. She rests the bowl on the nightstand and slips into her own shower, washing off sand and journeying. When she emerges Andy is standing there, a robe in his hands, waiting. "You smell so, winter fresh?" she laughs.

"Body wash is arctic breeze," he grins. She goes to her closet and rifles through some lounge wear sets. Some are cozy, others are more lacy and revealing but relaxed all the same. Smirking at Andy she pluck out the new high neck cut out teddy she got from Victoria's secret in lilac. Her chest is covered but there's a cut out just below bust line in a wide triangle that stops just above her belly button before turning back into lace covering her lower half. It could be worn as lingerie or with a pair of jeans as a cheeky body suit. But it makes her feel, playful and liberated. She slips it on aware that Andy's eyes are on her even while he hangs back up the robe. She pulls her hair up and turns towards him, holding out her hand. "Come here," she instructs. His strong fingers curve over hers as she leads him to the bed, clambering up in it and pulling him up with her. She strokes his face, mouth curling into a smile when she looks into his gentle dark eyes. "Thank you,"

"For what?" he asks, voice faraway as his eyes drink in her beautiful sparkling smile. A hand drifts to rub absently along her thigh.

"Your cooking, for one," she teases. "Looking after the garden. Being so patient with me this week when I haven't been around much for you."

He straightens just a bit, grasping her face between his hands in turn pulls her in close, tip of his nose grazing hers. "Good things come to those who wait." he says, voice full of sage wisdom before he closes the gap and his mouth slants over hers.

Abbie loves, kissing Andy.

Not more or less than the others. There's just something about the way he does it. Slow, a little tentative to start sometimes, as if he's not always sure she wants him, but she does. She always does. Maybe it's because he's so quiet and sweet, mild mannered. But with her, he's a little, just a little less even tempered. He's graceful and fluid and grounded in himself. He's possessed of a quiet strength that is never unmanned by cooking, cleaning, dancing----he would never willfully flaunt it before anyone else, but he can dance, more than the sweeping, beautiful waltz that Crane knows----more than the playful show boating that's native to Joe---Andy dances with a smooth lightness of his feet, grace in his fingers and a deep awareness of his body.

He also can make the piano ripple and sing like no one else she's ever known.

Those same fingers making her sing sometimes, too.

But she kisses him now, slow, gently,savouring the feeling of his soft lips before his tongue dips inside her mouth to meet hers. He holds her face between his hands still, but begins to shift, rolling over on his back and carrying her with him she swings a leg over so she is straddling him. Her hands massage his shoulders and she breaks apart for air, giggling as his fingers tip tap along her thighs and up her spine. She leans back down over him, till their foreheads touch. "What are you playing" she asks, voice breathy.

He drums them a bit more, she feels the pattern of his fingers moving, when his thumb turns under his third finger in a scale, taking his hand down to just about her knee, before reversing and travelling back up again. He scrunches his brow thoughtfully. "That ones Mozart," he says, "Piano Concerto 21, this," he smiles as his fingers dance and flit back up her spine, stretching to dance across her upper back and back down. "Is the cadenza, but I'm still working on a few trills," he explains.

"I'm always happy to help you practice," she murmurs softly, letting her fingers tap their own quick rhythm along his shoulders. He grins.

"Walstein?"

She lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. "I didn't have opportunity to learn so many different things before you guys came into my life. But piano, my reeducation in it, I credit that to you."

"Help me with this trill," he invites, reaching up to stroke her neck. Abbie shifts closer and feels him beginning to press against her. She lets out a small, soft moan.

"What do I do?" she asks, lips hovering barely a breath above his.

He tips his head up so their lips meet again, parting, tongues dancing, an then fluttering---she makes a low sound in the back of her throat. "Is that the trill you mean?" she pants. He nods, face flushed.

"It's hard to get the timing right, it happens in such a," he moves a bit below her and he rubs against her, just a touch. She can't stop herself, she rolls her hips, rocking on the hardness. "Tight--time-- frame," he huffs as she moves, his hands grip her hips.

"I bet it is."

He groans, eyes fluttering shut. "Wait, wait, wait. Abbie." she rocks once more, revelling in the mounting friction of the light lace, the bare flimsy thing scraping against her, and him, like hot steel. They could be together right now, moving together, sharing the same air, fused--- her hand begins to wander around the button on his pants.

"What,"

"I think I know better ways to practice that trill."

"Oh?"

"Yes, but later."

"Andy" she whines, riled up. He can make her go zero to sixty and it's all in the fact that when Andy starts becoming a little ungoverned, it turns her on. It cranks up the heat insanely fast. The fact that he can exert control to stop fascinates and vexes her. And makes her body thrum. He's quiet and unassuming, but it's always that small chance, the dormant threat that Andy can be the complete opposite, that always makes her a little hyper aware around him. Makes her soft and tender, next level confidential. She's never chatty with Andy around the other men, they have their own language, in soft, weighted gazes and light touches and deep affection.

It's a look between her and Andy. A look, is all they need.

But she could use more, right now, she aches and needs something, anything----He reaches for the bowl of fruit she brought up on the nightstand, eats a strawberry and then dangles one before her.

"Andy."

"Please?" he implore. Reluctantly, cursing softly and he chuckles at her, she swings off of him, snuggling up to him instead, throwing one leg casually over his. He lifts the bowl over and wedges it between them, and they take turns feeding one another the fruit. Sharing berry flavoured kisses in between, and one hand taps out some other melody on her thigh. "Do you know this one?"

She pauses her mouth slightly open, thinking. "Do it again?"

He taps more deliberately, and hums lightly to go along with it. When she seems slow to catch on he brings his face close and hums the tune,a bit louder now, against her throat. His lips begin to move reverently around words and when one clicks she laughs lightly. "As Long As You're Mine. From Wicked."

"And there you go." he says, reaching into his pants pocket. Her eyes widen. "Just shy of the orchestra," he says.

Abbie squeals but then her thoughts race in a frenzy. Is there a special occasion she's forgetting? Yesterday was her anniversary with Hawley, yes, but is it something important with Andy today? He catches her ill hidden worried expression and chuckles.

"Nothing, Abbie, nothing. I've just been wanting to go, and I know you do too."

She leans over and presses her lips to his again, climbing all over him and not giving a damn as he flounders beneath her, the berries that roll out the bowl and squish between their bodies, fruit smearing on her lacy teddy. He can't fight her off this time, he loses control as his hands squeeze her backside, then move and trail up to slip the button through the hole on the teddy and begins to peel it off. She bounces free in his face and she exhales with relief when he twirls his tongue around a nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

"You were stupid," she breathes, fingers running through his hair. "To think I would let you pull me taut like that and not finish. _Espec_ \---" she chokes off as he releases her and trails his mouth lower, licking smeared blue berries off her skin. "Especially, after telling me you got tickets"

He trails back up again to kiss her, hands pushing the fabric lower off her body. "We need to get ready," he whispers. "It's a long drive."

"Play me," she invites, slipping her tongue in his mouth she writhes against him, his hands map her curves and swells. "Play me like your piano, and then we'll go."

He smiles, the sweetest, most dear smile. "Call me maestro."

" _Maestro_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we're prolly gonna see more Andy soon.  
> Then Crane.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy and feelsy angsty? Idk, this chapter went left. lol.
> 
> Thanks to Anniera for making me ask myself some hard questions about this story. I hope I can keep making this fun, obviously, but add a little meat to it too. Not out to turn this into a big drama. This just happened, and then I couldn't, unhappen it. 
> 
> Thanks also to Neicy and Erika spending so much time with me talking about the characters. 
> 
> Comment please I beg you! <3

Abbie's eyes crinkle and she giggles.

"What" he asks, eyes alight. "What's so funny"

"You remember that time they asked you to fill in for the conductor----" she begins to snicker.

"Oh no," he shakes his head, diverting his attention back to her neck. She hums appreciatively.

"They couldn't keep up with your tempo, you got so swept up"

"Sssh," he chastises mildly, humour in his gaze when he draws back to position her properly on the bed.

"And you lost your baton" she continues, teasing, but then gasps when Andy, wrapper torn swiftly, himself shielded and packaging discarded, nestles between her thighs.

"Eyes on me, at all times," he says, "And follow my tempo."

"Are you going to count me in?"

He grins softly, leaning down to peck her forehead before he sheaths himself in her. She gasps.They both pause, just a moment, breath quick as he gazes down at her adoringly. "One, two, three, four,"

* * *

 

 _Andante_ , a leisurely, 'walking speed.

 _Legato_ , smoothly.

 _Con fuoco_ , with fire.

 _Con brio_ , with spirit.

 _Staccato_ , short, crisp, detached, her panting quick breaths mounting as they reach their pique.

 _piano_ , soft. His soft endearments, puffing against her skin.

 _ritardando_ , to gradually slow down. A taunting tease, the pace slows, her nails dig into his back as they edge back, back, down the slope.

He goes still, long enough for kisses, long enough for her to squirm with need, a _fermata._

The way his fingers rapidly dance and flutter, _tremolo_ , and the way her body shudders at his attention.

 _a tempo,_ a return to the previous speed, and once again begins this aching long trek.

She could cry with want, she could scream with it. He goes about making love like a symphonic performance, he does variations on a theme, changing rhythm, pace, and in return her pitches modulate creeping higher and higher, the dynamic, from the delicate moans crescendoing to the _forte_ cries and the _dolce,_ sweet, _cantabile_ , singing style of her release.

And the damn trill he'd perfected on her with practised precision makes her eye his fingers and think of his tongue like devils in disguise.

She is breathless and spent and moulded in his arms. "That was,"

"Encore?"

Abbie laughs, taking up his hand in hers. She examines it quietly, the small delicate black tattooed 'A' on the side of his finger. "I need to be able to walk into the theatre, _Maestro_ ,"

He begins to laugh, a warmer richer sound than some would expect and kisses her crown.

* * *

 

A green dress. Of course a green dress---they're seeing Wicked--- it's tea length. Her curly hair she wears half up and half down. Andy fastens her necklace around her throat. She watches him in the reflection of the mirror, and he stares back at her, hands resting on her shoulders. The first time they'd seen a show was a brief revival of Ragtime, at Stratford Ontario.

They'd already known each other for years, friends then, nothing more. Her mother had passed the month before and grief was still fresh. But they'd already had this trip planned. As friends--although maybe it was changing, bit by bit---they'd never been on Canadian soil, before. She'd wanted to cancel, there was no way she could take a trip with her mother only just laid to rest. But Andy, her dearest friend. He was going on his first european tour. He'd be gone for months.

So they went.

And the music was beautiful. And the story was gut wrenching. And the music stirred you, moved you. And she forgot, for that night, the grief. And the rest of the trip, he was so excited about the tour, animated then, Andy once used to be animated----years of serious performance and discipline has replaced that with nuance---which is perhaps why she gets such a thrill of him now when he let's loose, it's a glimpse of the vintage him. He'd been so excited about everything, and she had begun to enjoy herself until the last day, they'd made it to Toronto and they were sight seeing. And they wanted to remember this trip. She wanted, still grieving, to hold onto something, even though her friend would be so far away.

* * *

 

In the reflection he kisses her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her. She smiles at him, tip toeing her fingers across his hands, catching sight of the little black 'A' etched on her finger.

" _Just for this moment_ ," he sings softly, swaying with her in his arms. " _As long as you're mine, I'll wake up my body, and make up for lost time,"_

"You always do,"

He turns her towards him, brushing this thumb along her cheek. There's nothing on her mind and no thoughts he needs to hear, and vice versa, but something about their eyes connecting right now, say everything and nothing.

Enough.

"How is it," she muses, lips turning up in a smirk. "That you still can't tie a tie?"

"Clip ons."

"I've spoiled you, is what."she reaches to do undo the odd turn he's got and starts fresh, measuring the length. __

* * *

When he was in undergrad, getting ready for his recitals, it wasalways Abbie doing his tie before he went out. She'd leave choir rehearsal and head over to the neighbouring building and catch him milling about back stage, trying and failing, always, with his tie. She'd suggested clip ons to him back then but he always refused them. Looking back now, maybe it had been Andy's clever way of getting Abbie to stand alittle closer than usual and fuss over him, a little.

"Why do you know how to do this, anyway?" He asked the first time.

She bit her lips together and had gone quiet fora moment, working silently until it was compete and tugging it to make sure it held. "My father. Well, watching my mother, fix ties for my father." That wasall she would say then. It would take time, lots of it, never prodding or coaxing, for her to tell more of it. The whole of it.

She turned pages for him on occasion, too.

* * *

 

"Yes you have," he concedes, watching her fingers turn over and around in that familiar pattern before she finishes it, slides the knot and gives a light tug. As she begins to pulls away his arms come up around her, pulling her close instead. He turns his lips towards her ear. "I love you," he whispers.

Abbie opens her mouth to reply but then he withdraws, caressing her cheek, a finger pressing against her lips.

"Let's get going,"

* * *

 

The orchestra warms up and she crosses her legs turning in towards him and one arm drapes across the back of her chair, the other holds her hand. "These are really good seats."

"Yeah, they are, ooh listen." the clamour of brass and violins in the pit fills the air with the hum of anticipation. And then the lights dim save for one small spotlight, above the conductors stand. A hush falls as a small smatter of applause begins within the pit and ripples through the crowd as the conductor steps up into place, he turns to give a wave and then back to his musicians. The customary pleasantries are said, about cell phones and video taping. And then darkness.

And then that steady rhythm, the one Andy had drummed so diligently on her thigh begins. Grandiose, foreboding.

Wicked.

* * *

 

_Kiss me too fiercely,_

_hold me too tight,_

_I need help believing, your with me tonight._

_My wildest dreamings, could not foresee,_

_lying, beside, you_

_and you wanting me_

* * *

 

The first time, it was the night he got back fromhis tour. It was sudden and strange and frightening but fantastic.

Andy, happy go lucky flighty, frivolous Andy, yes, he was all of those things before he'd left.

Came back, sure.

Of himself.

Of her.

She'd been happy to greet him at the airport, a little scared too, because, after all, what if so much time away had changed him. What if he was no longer her dear friend?

And he wasn't.

When he strolled through the crowds and saw her, she'd waved at the end of the hall, happy, and he'd smiled at her too, drawing closer, nearer, until he abandoned his suitcase, four, five feet away, and had kept striding towards her with such purpose it had struck Abbie with the absurd thought he meant to walk through her.

And when he reached, his hands to her face, pulling her in.

He didn't ask.

He should have asked.

Buthis lips were on hers, and he tugged her closer to him still and something she hadn't understood before gained clarity. Bright, illuminating clarity. And she kissed him back. She answered his questing lips in kind.

He would apologize after, profusely, for being so bold. Spent half the night making amends for it, even as she invited him inside and then there he was again.

All over her, around her.

And Abbie was in disbelief.

Never in a million years would she have seen this coming.

* * *

 

_Maybe I'm brainless_

_Maybe I'm wise,_

_You've got me seeing,_

_through different eyes._

* * *

 

In the morning she'd woken to him, gazing at her. A look that told her everything, answered the question she hadn't thought to ask, and she laughed. Because he was back. He was here. In her bed. He was hers. How had she missed it? How could she not have sensed it, that last day before he'd left, spur of the moment, stroll into that parlour.

* * *

 

_Every moment,_

_As long as you're mine,_

_I'll wake up my body_

_and make up for lost time._

* * *

 

And he did. He always tried. Even when the tours got longer. When the guest performances greater.

When she was away when he finally was home.

* * *

 

_Say there's no future_

_for us as a pair._

_I know,_

_I may know,_

_I don't care._

* * *

She'd told him once, she wanted to try new things, but he was never there.

He told her, he doesn't want her to wait around for him.

"I know you wouldn't ask me to." but then, "But that doesn't mean I want you to let me go."

She'd felt guilty, when she met Luke, and had felt, excited.

* * *

 

_As long as you're mine._

She forgets how the conversation went after that. But then there was another person edging into her heart. She had worried then,that she was being unfaithful, letting this happen, it wasn't meant to go further. But when Luke went away Andy was back home.

And it just, kept, going.

* * *

 

She glances at Andy as the song finishes, the planes of his face. She squeezes his hand, just a little.

And today, how she lives, how they live, some might think it strange, bizarre, maybe, even sick. Sad, maybe, this woman can't possibly really love and care for any of these men with all of herself. They can't possibly think they're getting all of her and she's getting all of them.

But they don't understand that she does, truly, deeply, care for each one of them, and her them. What they've all taught her, is she has a greater capacity in her heart than she believed, even if on the rare occasion, whispers in the street try to make her feel guilty.Some might say her story is something about frivolity and promiscuity.

But it's about love, really. That daring, crazy, brazen sort of love, that is reckless and messy and complicated enough, to accept differences, similarities, who they are. Wants, and desires.

Nothing has changed about what she feels for Andy, or any of them, she just loves them in different ways, as they do her. They love all of her different facets and adores the things they show her, teach her.

The friendships the men have even formed, though they pretend it doesn't exist.

What outsiders think isn't what matters.

He glances back at her at last. "Hey." he calls softly. "I'm not half as interesting as what's on stage," he winks.

"Thank you," she says, for the second time today.

It's a look between her and Andy.

That's all they need.

He holds her gaze and darts in for a quick peck.

She settles back into the chair, and they enjoy the rest of the show.

It's not the life for everyone, but its hers, theirs. They're happy.

Unfathomably so.

* * *

 

And at home again he plays arpeggios and scales and concertos on her body.

And she beams at him again afterward, and he asks, "what is it?"

And she leans up and whispers in his ear, joking and quoting the show, "I feel, _wicked_!"

His eyes widen and he flops over on his back, laughing. 

Their laughter a joyous duet, until they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. all the feels.
> 
> ONWARD! to Crane.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo
> 
> A flash back of how Abbie first met eccentric Crane, 2, 3 years ago.
> 
> And how she met some other gents. 
> 
> They'll show up later ;) in present and flash backs.

Andy wakes to gently drifting fingers along his abdomen and soft lips on his jaw. He doesn't move though, instead remains as still as he can, eyes closed while feeling Abbie nestle closer to him.

She likes this. It always reminds her of that first morning after. Andy changed the landscape of her life. In unexpected, exciting ways. She'll always appreciate that. Love him for his bravery.  She mouths the three words against his skin, and a kiss after, to seal it there. "I know you're awake," she jokes, lightly grazing him with her teeth as she smiles.

One eye cracks open to her beaming at him. He reaches to tangle his fingers in her curls, angling her head towards his. "Morning."

* * *

 

They shower and dress together.

Downstairs,Crane makes breakfast.

Andy finished first, pulling on his socks he watches her quickly working her fingers through her hair, twisted and tucked away in a braided crown, he watches her wistfully.

"You awake over there?" she calls.

"Barely," he grins. "I don't know if I can keep up with _your_ tempo anymore."

She tosses her discarded sleep shirt in his face, he catches it, chuckling.

"Have a good week," she says when she's finished, turning towards him.

"I'd say you too, but I know who I'm leaving you with. So I'll just say enjoy."

She wrinkles her nose at him as he bends down for an eskimo kiss.

* * *

 

"Oh _dear"_ Crane glances up from the screen on his phone as Abbie enters the kitchen. "Calvin's delayed." announces. He tries and fails to sound disappointed by it. "Missed his train. What a _pity_ "

Abbie takes a seat at the breakfast bar and rests her chin on her palm. "I'm sure you're so upset."

Crane looks over at her, a twitch of his lips. "It's unfortunate his time with you will be cut short. However I will endeavour to make up the short fall."

Abbie raises a brow. "Mhmm. You told him a later departure time didn't you."

His brows shoot up to his hairline,  scandalized. "Miss Mills. You think I am capable of such deceit?"

"Valentines day" she counters and his face flushes scarlet in shame, though she begins to snicker.

"Not one of my finer moments," he concedes. Abbie chortles as she reaches for the paper.

"So, whatever will I do until Calvin gets here?" she despairs, flinging an arm dramatically over her brow. Crane arches a brow at her.

"Such antics." he sniffs. "You could help me with a few translations, if you don't mind."

"I like those," she says off handedly, draining the glass of orange juice. "Keeps the mind sharp, tongue nimble,"

Crane inhales sharply. "Indeed."

"Should I change?"

"Ah!" he shoots to his feet and lifts a halting hand. "No need, Miss Mills." "Rambling around musty texts, don't want you getting dirty." __

* * *

 

Abbie met Crane, quite accidentally.

A curiosity of a man who woke up in a cave and staggered out into the middle of the road on a blustery Halloween eve. That was the story of the character he was portraying, a haunting ghoul on the a Halloween attraction. 

A fanciful twisted tale of a revolutionary soldier buried and suspended in life by a witch, now restless and without purpose, seeks out answers and companionship in the frightening new world to which he has awakened.

This was about two or three years ago. Abbie was on the Sleepy Hollowhaunted hayride with the her girlfriend Sophie. The hayride is usually a mild form of amusement, the women get more fun out of the children who squeal and scream, burying their faces in the laps and arms of their parents than being frightened themselves. They laugh a little at the wailing and moaning along the road when they turn down dirt paths in the forest, the figures lumbering around in furry suits, meant to resemble wolves.

"I don't know how but I get older and this gets more fun every year," Sophie snickers.

"It's because we're old and jaded," a male voice calls, sitting across from them. Abbie is laughing along with Sophie until he interrupts, then she turns her head towards him, chafing her hands together as the cart bucks along.

"Hey speak for yourself I'm a vibrant young woman!" she calls back jovially and he cracks a smile. He's got nice eyes, a sort of crisp light green. Short, burnt caramel hair.

"Won't argue that," He agrees with a bob of his head. "What do you think Rick? decrepit hag or bewitching enchantress?"

"She's just spit fire and small statured," another voice interrupts, feminine and teasing but one Abbie recognizes.

The one named Rick pauses, looking between his companions in genuine confusion, but Abbie hadn't missed the appraising look he shot her.

She did however straighten up at the sound of the female voice, craning her head aroundin the dark night to peer beneath a hood pulled low over her face. But she could seeswinging brown dreadlocks, "Mich, that you?"

Rick looks over at the woman, brows raised and a cheeky smile. " _Mich_?"

A grunt and the hood falls back. She tosses her head free. " _You_ don't get to call me that, girl friends only. Good to see you Mills. Foster"

"You too!" Abbie chimes eagerly before Sophie cuts her off.

"Michonne!" Sophie exclaims, half leaping across the cart, jerking to and fro as they plunge deeper into the forest. A figure lurches out near the cart swinging a bloodied axe and the children and their parents shriek in alarm. Sophie barely manages to land next to Michonne and the other man with them, feeling squished, swiftly changes seats to be on Abbie's side. Just as he sits down a clawed hand creeps over the end, curling over his shoulder. He yelps and Abbie chortles softly, eyes aglow.

"That funny enchantress?" he asks.

"Abbie." she replies, giving a surprised cry of fright when a body dangling from a tree swings just over head, dripping fake blood in nauseating drops all over the passengers. A red gob lands on his cheek and he thumbs it off, glancing at it with curiosity.

"Dean." he answers at last, smearing his hand on his pant and extending it for her to shake. "Dean Winchester."

"You're not from here." she observes calmly, jostling along in eerie quiet as they go. More haunting whispers and murmurs sound about them, the screams of more rides coming up behind.

"No, I'm not. heard this was an event though so," He shrugs and nods over at Michonne and Rick. "They got really excited about spending Halloween in Sleepy Hollow so, here we are. They're fascinated with morbid things."

"Oh I know," Abbie laughs, shooting Michonne mischievous glances. "We went to school together back in the city, too many horror movie marathons." She says accusingly and Michonne grins. "Why didn't you say you were in town?"

"Totally spur of the moment, we weren't planning to stay," she calls back over the feral roar of another actor out in the shadowed wood.

"They've been hitting all the worst haunted houses, dragging me with them." Dean explains, forlorn.

"Not your cup of tea?" she asks him. Dean shakes his head.

"I spend too much time with real supernatural to have a lot of fun with the imaginary."

Abbie quirks a brow at him, intrigued, and she's about to ask another question when the cart finally begins bucking back out onto the road and then the scraggly zombified looking man comes clawing up out of a cavern they passed without warning. He rants and raves as he comes up behind the cart. The passengers yell, laugh, the children clawing away as the man grasps the wagon that has inexplicably stopped so he can swing himself on.

He's wearing dated military wear, the long unkempt hair, his skin pale and ghostly and half rotted and wild eyed as he lumbers and screams unintelligibly, lunging at the others aboard and half falls before Abbie and Dean.

"What year is it!" he screams, deranged. "Where Am I!"

Abbie and Dean cringe appropriately as the apparition blunders off and the ride continues until they circle back around to their starting point.

They all clamber off, Abbie instantly linking arms with Michonne and Sophie, chatting excitedly and sharing a quick embrace with the woman. "So you guys aren't even staying tonight?" she asks.

Michonne shakes her head. "No we'll be back though, supposed to be a real blood bath the town over. Can't wait." she smiles. Ricks gaze bounces between both women, a look of indecision on his face.

"Great meeting you, Abbie."

There's a rough weathered look to his face that makes Abbie think of wild things. "You too, Rick. You tell me when you're back next time Mich."

Michonne nods, giving her a light comradely hug. "Will do Mills. What you doing during the holidays?"

"Well I guess hanging out with you. We have a lot to catch up on."

"Boy does she ever," Sophie singsongs and Abbie nudges her and rolls her eyes.

Sophie continues chatting with them Michonne and Rick as Dean sidles up beside her. "I'm not here long either," he admits. "Following those two. But I think, we had something, for a minute out there"

"A faux zombie encounter?"

He'd smiled. "I'm sure there's more if we look."

"You just said you're leaving," she'd reminded him, rocking back on her heels.

He'd shrugged, taking a small step towards her. "I mean, I think that's what phones are for,"

Abbie had hesitated a beat before conceding, thinking there's no harm in this, surely. Luke and Andy won't mind. After Dean, Rick and Michonne departed Sophie and Abbie weregetting candy corn from a stall in the market when the zombie creature that attacked the wagon last emerges from the public washroom, much changed.

Abbie notices he's tall first.

Unfairly so.

His eyes next, that latch on and bore into her.

His face, clean now of the makeup and his hair which is actually a pretty dark brown, cascading around his shoulders. "Ah, the ladies of this eve, did you enjoy yourselves?"

Sophie nods. "You make a good creep."

The man tossed back his head, laughing. "A compliment I'm sure." he had bent slightly to speak to Abbie, "I hope I did't frighten you and your young man. Too much" he winked.

"Oh he wasn't with me," Abbie had heard herself answer quickly.

"How terrible for him then, Ichabod Crane, scholar, professor, part time raving lunatic." he'd bowed low before her, in an old world display of charm that made Abbie's mouth quirk. Sophie had playfully nudged her in the side when he reached for her hand, holding it gently in his and looking up at her, half bent. "Your name?"

"Grace Abigail Mills." Heaven only knew why she had felt a need to be formal and proper with Crane when she'd been casual cool with Dean, but there she was. There was just something about Crane, the energy of him, vaguely aristocratic but good humoured. "And this is my friend, Sophie Foster."

"A pleasure, Miss Foster."

"Professor?" Abbie inquired, reluctantly removing her hand and stuffing it in her pockets.

"It is late, else I would gladly regale you with thrilling tales of my academic pursuits," his eyes had glinted in a manner that made her think he was indeed a man who derived a certain rare pleasure in educating others. Although something about his gaze and the rolling timbre of his voice seemed inclined to hint at more than facts and dates. "If you can forgive my barbaric behaviour tonight, I would like to see you in daylight."

And so there it was. Abbie found herself giving out her number for the second time that night.

* * *

 

In the beginning, she'd been a little amazed by his appetite for literature. The sheer wealth of things he knew. Abbie had always been well read, academically inclined and willing to explore, but his attention to detail had been both fascinating and alarming. He could still recall to her perfectly exactly what she had been wearing that night of the hayride.

Abbie would learn later, when they went for a modest cup of tea, in high day, that Crane was very loosely involved with the community theatre that organized the hay ride. His sudden launching into one of Prospero's monologues from the tempest heartily supported the claim. That and the smattering of applause he had received after, in the coffee shop.

He was a spectacular man, Abbie would soon learn.

A man who made himself a spectacle willingly and with abandon.

She'd liked that understated ungoverned side of him. The part of him that outright corrected guides on museum tours and expounded on historical inaccuracies in whatever he was reading.

He'd challenge her to chess and every other slow moving deliberate card game, spending moments in contemplation thinking through his moves while doing the most innocuous things that made her feel warm.

He'd lick his lips as he watched the chess board in the park, figuring out his move and then glancing at her, staring at her a full beat before marching across in her momentary distraction. If they went for a drink he'd run his finger around the rim of his glass while in thought, in a slow hypnotic motion.

He liked to practice his monologues for her. He'd been suitably cast that same winter as Ebenezer Scrooge. She'd gone to one of his rehearsals even, and had come home a little late, but still warm and bubbly from the cafe they'd gone too afterwards with the rest of the cast.

Andy had been waiting up for her that night. At the piano. She'd gone to him, sat beside him while he'd finished before he'd turned to her, with a gentle lift of his brow and a small upturn of his mouth. "Well?" he'd asked, reaching for her hand, stroking the back with his thumb, "When do I get to meet him?"

* * *

 

Crane had been momentarily perplexed, then intrigued, and afterwards all together unbothered when he'd found out he wasn't the only one. He couldn't be, he wouldn't be. Of all things he had suggested Abbie invite the other men to opening night. "I can't do that, Crane," she'd said. "I don't….when I'm out with one of them….."

His gaze had softened, understanding. "You're very dedicated to spending time with just them. That's very sweet, Miss Mills. I admire your devotion."

"I might bring one of them, I….we just might not stay long after."

He'd nodded. "Of course."

* * *

 

It was the first time she'd ever seen Andy and Luke disagree. Who was coming with her to vet the newcomer. This odd newcomer, who everyone in town knew was a learned eccentric and known for being mildly questioned of his sanity. "I just don't think we should allow just every and any 'interesting' man to waltz into her life. Our lives. He might actually be insane." Luke had said.

Andy, mild and considering, "I trust Abbie's judgement. For every person who calls him crazy, someone else calls him brilliant. And he is liked," he'd smiled. "A guy in the orchestra says he's very funny." he'd levelled his gaze at Abbie across the kitchen island and she'd turned away. He'd sighed. "And she likes him, Luke. You can't argue with your heart." When his eyes slid back her way Abbie was already coming around the island and ever so lightly had let her fingers catch at his. The briefest touch.

"So, who's coming with?" she'd asked.

"I will."

Andy had issued a calm, stern warning. "Don't embarrass Abbie, Luke."

* * *

 

Needless to say. 

They did not hit it off.

* * *

 

But that was then, and with time, as with all things, they've grown on one another. Abbie barely snaps out of her reminiscing as she watches Crane work. His fluttering hands and quick moving lips as he recites dead languages in his luring baritone. He keeps this place, the Archives, as a member of the historical society he isthe sole curator for it, in impeccable shape. It's an aggressive study in OCD.

His attention to detail, is second to none. The way she has watched him, shelve and re-shelve so the spines are the exact same distance from the edge. His reshuffling and rewashing of dishes and folded laundry.

She likes to undress, Crane.

But if he's preparing for a night out, she'll stay out of his way.

The way his fingers flit and fix and re fix his hair. Turning and straightening his collar. The tuck and untuck of his shirt reminds her too strongly of her mother.

* * *

 

Meticulously tying and retying her fathers tie. Her fathers warm, soothing voice. "That's enough Lori, that's enough it's alright, it looks fine."

The moment when her mothers stoic expression had crumpled into silent tears. Untying the perfect knot and starting again. And then her fathers shoulders had begun to shake.

* * *

 

She loves this compulsion of his, truly. It's quintessentially him. And she certainly appreciates his diligence. And his memory. Bless him for that.

She'd told him that it triggered her, the way he could wrangle with a tie for eternity.

He'd immediately stopped.

It's odd. How she interacts with her past with the different men in her life.

Some how fixing ties for Andy reminds her of care.

But watching Crane achieve perfection only to undo it and start again reminds her of her mothers futile struggles.

Of a grey cast day so far away.

But she puts those threatening glimmers of memory aside, for now. She watches Crane, glancing up from her own text that she is meandering through at a decent speed, and she could be quicker if she wasn't distractedly just, watching him.

He does this thing where the words he's saying die off into a sort of murmur, like a tumbling brook, down into the bass of his voice crashing upon a distant silence, before they start burbling back up again, into vowels, consonants, words, transformed in that dip of cadence from ancient tongue to English as he lifts his head from the tome in question. At times in wonder. Others, a puzzled frown. "That can't be right" he shakes his head and tries again. And others he lifts his head and the words mean nothing to her but they become meant for her when their eyes connect. He offers a small smile, hefting the book and moving it closer to her. she leans against him with her own book and an arm dangles across her shoulder, lazily tracing characters there.

"What's this one for?"

"A paper," he replies, turning his lips towards her ear. "Presentation next month."

"Are you doing the festival this year? Finally submit something for the Playwrights cabaret?"

He grunts and continues reading.

"Crane."

"Abbie, let us not talk of….my pursuits."

"You're the one who asked me to help you with translations, but all I've been doing here is reading. And watching you read."

"Your presence alone gives me clarity of mind---watching me read?"

"Listening, too." she says warmly. "You know I love your voice,"

"I do find myself, a little stuck on this particular passage," he says.

She turns and presses a kiss to his bristled cheek. "How can I help?"

* * *

 

"You planned this," she laughs, ticklish as the brush glides along her skin. "You just happened to have body paint on hand?"

"You never know when one might be willing to oblige in being a writing surface," he smiles, dipping the brush and swirling it on her again. "This won't do," he tsks as his eyes scan across the exposed flesh along her sternum. "I need another line, ah, here we go." without preamble he unhooks the front clasp on her bra. Abbie hisses with the brief flash of cold before Crane dutifully drops his head and kisses each darkpeak, flushing her with warmth from within before he withdraws, dips the brush again and continues writing. She's lying on the rug. He's locked the doors. He's got brush in one hand, book in the other, reciting and painting her as he goes. He hits another snag at the waist of her jeans. "Oh, dear." he says, flicking the button through the loop and reaching to shimmy them down her hips. Abbie lies perfectly still. "Try not to smudge it Treasure," he taunts.

"Unbelievable." she mutters, eyes on the ceiling, willing herself not too move when the brush glides along the sole of her foot.

"I would have finished this translation, nearly half an hour ago, were you not stretching, and staring at me, with those deep pools of beckoning sweet darkness you call eyes."

"I know you aren't trying to say that me being here distracted you. You alreadysaid I give you clarity."

"I did not specify what you clarify, Treasure," he growls. Then she fees the bristles moving upwards on her leg, toward thigh. He makes very controlled deliberate markings. Sits back to survey his work and read. He is almost entirely calm and aloof.

"How much more" she asks, voice controlled. If they're going to play this game of teasing, she will match him. She closes her eyes and breathes deep.Thinking of the weight of her body and sinking into the floor.

"About half a page---Miss Mills, are you, _are you trying to **meditate?**_ "

Abbie tries not to smile at the affront in his tone. She keeps her eyes shut. "You said don't move, so."

"How, cooperative."

He continues to paint, and she keeps her mind focused willfully elsewhere. Ignoring the fingers that follow the brush, retracing the characters. His warm breath as he leans close, reading the words he's painted on her skin. His breathing grows more laboured, his fingers press against her a bit harder, dying for a reaction but Abbie smiles inwardly. She's going to finish him today. He'll know better than to go head to head with her from now on.

But then, she feels his finger running along the rim of her underwear, brushing against her curls. "This crease, right here," that's just his finger now, lightly grazing as it writes an imaginary character there. "And right," his lips follow, his tongue glides just along the join of her hip. "here,"

"That all sounds english to me, Crane."

"Oh I finished that text. Would you like to hear what it says?"

"Were you ever using it for research at all?"

"Of course. I'm just an efficient man."

"Yes I know---" his questing fingers have ventured deeper and Abbie begins to pant.

"Shall I recite it to you Treasure? It details all of the thoughts you clarified for me today."

"One of which being?"

"That I wondered how many ways I could make you fall apart." He grips the band of her underwear and begins to haul it down her legs.

She laughs, body shuddering under his weighted gaze. "You know what I love about you, Ichabod Crane?"

He tears his gaze away from her parted legs and licks his lips once. "Pray tell, Miss Mills."

"You know just what to do with me. Even though sometimes I have no clue what to do with you."

His eyes darken and he shifts so he is level with her. Lowering his head his lips touch hers, and her mouth opens beneath his allowing him entry. He pulls away from her, grasps her hand and guides it to his impressive length. "I can show you many things you can do with me, Abbie. If you need ideas. Some of my translations are quite, _inspired_. Would you like that?"

She grips him firmly and he stifles a groan. "You know I would,"

* * *

 

After he'd made her scream and curse with pleasure, it was her turn. She had him on his back, her hand wrapped around his cock, slowly moving up and down. "The one, here," she looks up at him, and points to the back of her neck. "What does it say?"

"I,I cannot,"

"You can't see?" she coos,bending over further, bring her lips closer to him. Her warm breath makes him shiver. "Now?"

"N-n-no" he shudders and she tilts her head forward even more, hair falling forward and only then he recalls he didn't write anything on her neck at all. "Abbie---"

But then her lips close around him and the rest of his words are swallowed up in a low moan. "Gods wounds." he murmurs breathlessly, reverently as she weaves magic on him with her tongue. "Not, this, way," he grunts, trying to stave off completion. She releases him easily, grinning devilishly down as she sinks down on him. "You'll be the _death_ of me" he groans. Abbie sets a slow pace, making her own sound of deep satisfaction as he hits just the right angle. He watches her, skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. "But I'd die happy," he concedes. 

"And what does this one say, Crane?" she demands, gesturing to the black scrawl bouncing on her chest as she rides him. "Tell me what it says"

"I---I cannot---I, _Oh **Abbie**_."

She throws back her head and laughs. "No I don't think it took you this many words to write my name."

"Oh it takes that many to call you the words going through my head," he manages, breath ragged.

"I've got all day."

"You are a fiend," he hisses.

"What else,"

"You, wicked, wicked, _wonderful_ woman,"

"And what else, Crane," she leans down over him stealing any breath he may have had with kisses.

"Freedom," he moans, abruptly rolling them over and thrusting faster. "With you, Treasure I find my purest most absolute Freedom."

She cries out and he tumbles down after. He speaks into her shoulder. "I think I will attempt the cabaret, this year." he says. "You've kindled an idea"

Laughter burbles up out of her and they lie there, naked, paint streaked in foreign tongue, her fingers stroke his hair "I've inspired you?"

"Perhaps," he quips. "Perhaps."

She rolls them over, letting her mouth nibble at his jaw. Beneath her she begins to feel him stir again and she purrs.

"You are ruthless," he accuses darkly, hands gripping her backside, pressing her against him.

Her eyes twinkle. " _And_?"

"I adore you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note, At the time of this flashback, I do not specify whether or not Rick is dating Michonne.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom foolery.

"I'm convinced you're cheating," Crane says as he removes a shoe. It's Tuesday afternoon, and Calvin still hasn't been able to show. Horrible, horrible mix up with the trains that Crane staunchly denies having any dealings with. Abbie sits across, lazily drinking from a bottle of beer. She shrugs a shoulder. "Your loss is my gain." she makes another move across the board and he grunts as he removes another.

"i shall see you disrobed, Miss Mills, mark my words."

"You don't have to beat me at chess to achieve that, Crane." she smiles, cheekily. "But you could, I don't know, challenge me a little in this match."

There's a retort dancing on his tongue just as the front door opens. Before Crane can think or Abbie can call who is it, there's Calvin Riggs, striding through the room and throwing his arms around her, roughly kissing her crown and shooting Crane a satisfied smirk.

"Master Riggs!" he exclaims. "There wasn't going to be another train until tomorrow afternoon----"

Calvin flashes his perfectly even straight white teeth in a smile. He laughs, "Now how did _you_ know that? I didn't know that until after I missed the train that _you_ said would be coming at ten o'clock but actually left at eight."

Abbie glances over at Crane, failing to hide a smile, knowing Crane's been caught being his at turns diabolically petty self.

* * *

 

Abbie had no idea that Ichabod could be such, until they read a review of one of Ichabod's theatre performances during the summer shakespeare festival. 

Abbie was heavily involved in the art scene as a profession. She'd grown up in it. Dad was top notch on his design teams. Her mama painted. And Abbie took after her mother's hands, painting and music alike. Singing and dance too. Had they their way, Abbie was supposed to end up on broadway.

Supposed to.

Abbie had many rotating professions, that was the unusual and sort of nice thing about being in theatre, music. Roles were in ways, interchangeable, mix and match building blocks that could stack on top of the other for a new career move. She'd skipped her broadway dream. Had gotten a steady job stage managing. When Andy had come back from his first tour, she rekindled her love of piano, and it was a handy skill to have, when they needed extra hands. Eventually she moved into directing and did a decent job of that, but she was working with the more competitive theatre companies in Sleepy Hollow by then, her days of dabbling in community theatre long past.

And in time, Crane had made an ambitious movehimself to a new company.

Crane was always a scholar and theatre more of a hobby than anything else. But everyone could see he had a draw towards it, and if it ever appeared possible he might have a true go at the stage, Abbie was sure he'd take it. It was why, keeping her ear to the ground and in touch with her other art contacts, one of which being Sophie Foster, director and producer of TheatreLit productions, and she'd heard they were auditioning for their new season, she had encouraged him to try.

Not surprisingly, Sophie had cast him. Sophie and Abbie had worked together plenty over the years. She knew all sorts of names and contacts for costuming and lighting, Abbie had the connections.

And that included reviewers.

Calvin Riggs was a theatre buff. Early on, when she was working gruelling hours in New York---Andy was still gone then---she'd read one of his sparkling, nuanced reviews of The Curious Dog At Night Time and Wolf Hall part 1.She always kept him in mind.

So of course when TheatreLit was putting on The Tempest, Abbie invited Riggs to come and see the show. She half hadn't expected he would to be honest, all the way to little Sleepy Hollow.

But it turned out her name had preceded her too, he'd done his research and seen her long involvement in the art community and was interested and seeing what their town had to offer.

Crane was playing Prospero again, naturally, a role he was so at ease with it had given no one pause when Sophie had allocated it to him. He remembered everything from it, so it hardly seemed fair in some respects that he should be so fluid at it while others laboured with the rhyme and riddle of Calabash and Ariel, but thems the breaks.The production ran for a week and people applauded and the gang of them came to support.

They'd made an interesting sight, five men then, herself and Sophie tagging along. Andy, Luke, Nick Hawley, Daniel Reynolds, and the last one, an extra, more a friend of the boys than hers, before she would get to know him, Joe Corbin. Crane did an admirable comfortable job. The guys were supportive, they gave him embraces and congratulatory words for his first go at a more pronounced main stage, and Crane preened and basked in the camaraderie and praise. Abbie had pecked his cheek and encouraged him to carry on celebrating with the men, she needed to turn in early. There was a round of partings and Abbie went home, and the boys stayed out, drinking and laughing and all seemed perfectly fine.

Until the reviews came in the next morning.

At first glance, scathing.

At second, truthful.

At third, you started to agree with a few of the flaws that the author, Calvin Riggs had found in Crane's performance.

Abbie had staggered downstairs the saturday morning to lively chatter. "Are we having a convention?" she'd yawned, a little perplexed to have so many of them there in her kitchen at once. It wasn't unusual per se, just unexpected. She usually knew in advance if they were doing brunch. They all had something going, a pot, a kettle, someone buttering bread, someone washing up a dish, someone pouring juice. Another with brows furrowed, borrowing Crane's---no Andy's? Danny's? reading glasses as they poured over the article that Crane was vigorously railing about.

"The nerve. _Pale_ portrayal! _overtly_ animated?!"

Abbie cocked her head to the side, confused."What's going on?" she asked as Andy pressed a kiss to her cheek and had guided her to a seat beside Danny.

"A review," Danny grinned in that dark teasing way. He was one of the many gathered around the table who rather enjoyed seeing Crane worked up. He pecked her other cheek and asked how she slept.

"Well. Where's this review?" she'd asked.

Across the table, tearing into a croissant Nick removed the glasses and handed them to Crane over his shoulder and passed the paper Abbie's way. "That critic you invited roasted Crane on a spit" he'd said, barely concealing a smile.

"What? No, let me see," snatching up the paper her eyes shot back and forth across the page and had to bite her tongue. Well he wasn't inaccurate, it was just a little harsher than had been expected, perhaps by all of them. Calvin Riggs was seasoned to professional, high quality veteran productions, and he'd apparently held the previous nights performance to the same standards. Which of course, they endeavoured to match---and he'd had glowing things to say otherwise of the cast and their insight and understanding of the text. But he'd come just shy of calling Crane's Prospero lazy.

"Performed with the ease of one who could do it in their sleep, but given to a fanciful imagination, much of the nuanced eccentricity and mild cruelty of Prospero's character went overlooked, untapped. And instead was wildly distracted by restless hands and insistent finger wagging." she read.

"How dare he!" Crane had exclaimed, slamming the frying pan on the stove top. He raised that same finger in question and thrust it into the air. "I breathed that script, when I did it with the troupe in Oxford it was a smash hit!"

"Weren't you in Oxford, oh, five, _six_ years ago?" Danny drawled smugly and Crane had shot him a death glare.

"Did you want eggs or not, Master Reynolds" the words barely scraping through his clenched teeth.

"So long as they're not 'pale' or _overtly animated_ ,"

Luke spat out his coffee laughing, simultaneously howling with pain when some also managed to redirect itself out his nose. The table burst into laughter and Abbie couldn't help but join in, seeing how red faced and outraged Crane had become at this slight. "Go on laugh," he'd said. "You have not been eviscerated publicly. Go on"

As if they had needed any encouragement. Even Andy chortled into his coffee.

When the laughter had subsided Abbie had wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sure he never meant for you to take it personally,"

"He named me several times, Abbie."

"Oooh." Nick gasped. "When it's _'Abbie'_ it's serious"

"Hawley I am in possession of a kettle of boiling hot water I suggest you do not **_test_ ** me."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Abbie snickered. "It happens to everyone Crane. What do you want me to do, make him write a retraction?"

"No. You're going to invite him back tonight, I will enchant him with my depiction this eve, and he will be so, stunned, that he will have no choice but to write a new review----"

"In other words a retraction," Danny rumbled, sharing a laughing glance with the others.

Crane sighed, exasperated. "Would you be so kind as to extend another invitation to…..Master Riggs, Miss Mills."

She should have refused to indulge him, but the other men had all turned to look at her then with pleading eyes. Whether because they felt Crane deserved a second chance or they were enjoying this new rivalry was yet to be seen. "Come on Mills, for the mans wounded pride."

Throwing her hands up in the air Abbie conceded. "Fine."

* * *

 

The second viewing went as to be expected.

Calvin was not moved to change his view.

In fact he'd been kind enough to write a new one, that praised the actor portraying Ariel and had left Crane out of it all together.

His erasure from the critics new review seemed to chafe at him even more.

"I'm in King Lear next month. Invite him."

* * *

 

In the midst of Cranes dogged obsession with proving Calvin Riggs wrong, it seemed to elude him that he constantly forcing Abbie into communications with the man, again and again. Her invitations to review shows, not just Crane's, anymore, but mostly his, were becoming, friendly, familiar. He was now stopping off in Sleepy Hollow even if there was nothing work related for him to do. Taking pictures of the scenery he'd said once, inviting her out to show him of the best spots. Photography was his hobby, his indulgent little love.

The reviews grew kinder, and Crane, admittedly, did strive for improvement in a way that the others noticed. He was developing a small fan base in town, students from his lectures were even coming now to support Professor Crane in his theatrical pursuits.

But Calvin still had yet to say anything, good, about Crane's acting. Just very concise quick, sharp critiques.

Abbie enjoyed Calvin's company. He had a brilliant smile, a velvet warm voice and a casual air, sometimes very vaguely philosophical, and at times Abbie was sure had they not begun their interactions in such a fashion, that the two would have quite gotten along. They clearly had a love of classical theatre and the stage in general. If Crane could stop being so affronted, and if Calvin could mince his words, just a tad.

But they're willful men, she learned. Warm, funny, talented, willful men.

Calvin took news of her arrangement with disbelief. He'd all but said she was a fantastic liar, it couldn't be true. Teasing and taunting him as a friend would she'd nodded. "Sure it is, come over and see."

* * *

 

It was a friday night and sure enough they were all there in the kitchen, four boxes of pizza among them, wine and beer flowing and the chatter died when the door opened and they heard a male voice accompanying her own. They'd watched her lead in Calvin who's eyes were wide as saucers when he looked upon them all there. "You were serious."

Grinning Abbie had extended an arm, encompassing all her beloveds. "Andy, Luke, Nick, Danny, and that's their friend, Joe. And over head, Ichabod Crane."

They all continued to stare, politely wanting explanations with their eyes.

"And guys, this is Mr. _Calvin Riggs_."

One could have heard a pin drop for their shock that she had brought this man who had aggravated Crane into the house. Except for Crane, gripping his bottle of beer too tight had muttered solemnly, reverently, with his eyes turned upward. 

"The Lord is testing me."

* * *

 

They are perfectly civil and friendly now. But that rivalry, that feud, still burbles up between them and presents itself at random moments. Easily tapped into and flared and petty as Crane is tall.

"I had no……idea that your train was…."

"I asked you if you could check the trains for me because my internet was down. How did you miss that. And why did you just happen to check when the next train would be in?"

"How did you even _get_ here without the train?" Crane asks at last, incredulous and revealing he's been thwarted.

"Well I had to taxi."

" _You_ taxied ** _all the way_** \-----"

"As far as it would get me---you owe me, about two hundred by the way----to the next station to catch another route."

" ** _I_ ** owe **_you-----_** " Crane's voice begins indignantly.

"I'm glad you made it," Abbie interrupts at last.

Crane wrangles his temper. "Indeed, Master Riggs."

Calvin shakes his head, chuckling. "You know, your ability to hold a grudge astounds me. If you could hold onto your character motivation half as well you'd have gotten that guild award last year,"

Crane opens and shuts his mouth several times to retort but nothing he can think of can recover from that blow. "Enjoy your stay, _Riggs_."

"Thanks Crane. And I'm gonna get you back for this one, don't worry."

Crane turns on his heel. _"I'm not in the slightest._ Abbie," he bows to her and blows a kiss. "Have fun."

They wait until they hear the study door slam before snickering to themselves. She takes Calvin's hand, lifting it to her cheek. "Alright, so I need you to tell me how you plan to get back at Crane."

"No way," he smiles, "You're compromised, you'll give him a heads up."

"I wouldn't dare."

"Give me a kiss and I might share an idea."

Abbie reaches up on her toes to wrap her arms around him. "Sounds good to me,"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chap will be proper.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.....  
> I'm gonna break the semi chronological time line I established early on of one day to another.
> 
> I'm gonna take more of a 'day in the life' approach to these, so more like dropping in on moments with these men, and Abbie maybe even sometimes just friend moments etc and bounce around from there. With some flash backs of course. 
> 
> There'll be threads of story line here and there, if you look ;)
> 
> Many thanks to you all reading my messy crazy ness, please leave a comment! <3

Big Ash ran a garage but lived more so out on the outskirts. Just far enough not to be central. Hawley introduced them. She doesn't know if it was Nick's intention to matchmake, but he never once seemed bitter about it. In fact, if she said she needed to get the car fixed, or one of the other gentlemen were having vehicular woes, Nick would give her a teasing smile and say slyly, "I think Big Ash is at the shop today. Why don't you let Abbie take it in?"

Once Crane had raised a curious brow. "And why should Miss Mills take in my motorcycle instead of myself?"

"Pretty lady discount," Nick had explained breezily. "Right Mills?"

Luke had shrugged and winked at her. "A little archaic but might be true. Abbie will get you a fair price Crane."

It had taken Ichabod a moment, still perplexed and mounting a small protest before the others had shot him meaningful looks. "Oh." he'd said with donning realization. "Oh. Well, say hello to Mr. Ash."

Abbie had flushed.

She didn't think she flirted with Big Ash, or particularly that he flirted with her, but obviously the men had being seeing something she hadn't.

Sure, she liked his height.

And sure, he wasn't the quick to smile type so when he did it was a special treat. Maybe, she had idly wondered about running her fingers through his hair. Perhaps she did feel his gaze linger when she left the shop. A competent, efficientmechanic, it can't be helped sometimes how long a repair will take. So sometimes Abbie stayed. Left for a coffee, came back, and talked to him while he was under the hood or half shuffled beneath a jacked car, casually handing him tools even though his workers were right there, they never seemed to mind. She learned a bit from him too. Before it became clear that her brood were subtly trying to fix her up with Ash, heaven only knows why, Abbie has never complained or claimed she needed more of them, but the minute any of them glimpsed spark they were rather given to the notion of supporting her and letting her see it through.

This wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to gently nudge her towards someone, that's for sure, nor the last.

But before it was obvious what their intentions were for always sending her to Big Ash, even if it meant waiting longer some days if he was closed and another mechanic was open, she had asked him for some pointers. Things she could solve herself.

"You're great company Ash, but sometimes I think I should have some recourse of my own."

A straight bright grin flashed her way. "I've got a clunker there the guys like to tinker with. It's old, but it's been through enough overhauls, might be fit to take road again soon, just need to sort out something with the engine. Come by friday, in work clothes," he'd stressed, looking over her boots and skirt and blazer---she'd just come from the theatre, a budget meeting and planning for the next season----"And we'll give it a go"

* * *

 

Oh, but the men acted _stupid_ when she mentioned it. "So it's a date." Calvin concluded, handing over to Crane the special edition complete works of shakespeare he'd found, digging it out of his bag.

"Thank you, Riggs."

"No problem, it's a date." Calvin continued. It was a shopping day. Every so often, either the whole gang of them or in smaller groups would take a day downtown and go to the market, pick up books, if Nick was in town him Luke and Danny would go off for some fancy booze, Andy liked to cook. They arrive together, split off, rejoin for lunch. As it happens, Calvin and Crane have literature and theatre in common. They were leaving the book shop as they left, both happily laden with anthologies so they were slightly less acrimonious to each other.

"Here's yours," Crane returns as they walk, passing over the history of film he'd seen Calvin eying. Abbie found this condition of their bond amusing. They had great conversations/arguments about books so they'd gotten into this cute habit of gifting one another something the other might like. It promoted good will when they weren't feuding, a friendship of sorts, until one or the other found it good timing to get on their nerves.

"Thanks Crane."

They're walking down the street toward the bistro where they agreed to meet up with the others. She feels she heard someone muttering about needing new jeans this morning. "He's helping me fix a car," Abbie had blinked, astonished. "How is that----"

"Oh please." Crane drawled. "Oldest trick."

"He's right,"

"You're both insane." she'd laughed, waving at the rest already taking up a table. The waiter looking perplexed at the small team of men, all excited for this one lone, beautiful woman. "How'd it go?" she asked, plunking down her bags. Andy bit back a laugh. "What," she grins. "What's funny?"

"Well while Luke was in the change room, Nick had a look around and he found something, perfect for Crane."

"Oh he did, did he," arms folded Crane raised a brow skeptically.

Andy waved a hand in the air, "I tried, Crane, I really tried, to stop them,"

" _Lies!_ " Danny crowed. "Lies! he sat there and helped them pick out wash and fit!" and leaned back in the chair cackling. Nick handed the shopping bag over and Crane peered curiously inside before reaching in and withdrawing the garment in question.

" _Dear God, **no**_."

"Ta-da!" Nick exclaimed, jazz hands and all.

Abbie shrieked. "Skinny Jeans?you guys. No!" she snickered.

"You shouldn't have," Crane swallowed, his face gone suddenly pale. The table sat there, watching him struggle to be grateful before they couldn't take it anymore.

"Joking man!" Luke said, patting Crane's shoulder. "They're not for you, we were just messing with you."

The look of relief on Crane's face was just as priceless as his look of terror. His shoulders slumped and he sank back into the chair with his head thrown back, the smallest burble of a laugh coming up his throat before he was shaking with it.

"You lot!" he accused. "You mischievous band of ne'er do wells!"

"These are Andy's" Luke shook his head tossing them at the man at the end of the table, his dark eyes dancing. "But he helped me pick out mine Abbie, you should see them, I look awesome."

"He's got surprisingly good taste." Danny mused as he took up his menu, hoping he was making his point that he was hungry.

"Well he _does_ spend a good deal of time around me," Crane murmured, recovering himself he straightened in the chair.

Andy's brows raised with intrigue and he leaned forward on the table, hands clasped"I take it that means you would entirely trust me to select skinny jeans for you, Crane?"

"I----I---- _well_ \---"

"No, a frock coat for this one here," Calvin interjected and Crane for the first time, perhaps the only time, in history, had looked at him gratefully.

"Guys I'm starving"

"You're gonna make Danny pass out. Come on let's order," Abbie chimed, and after, orders taken, Calvin and Crane brought the subject to the others at the table. The debate on whether or not she was unwittingly going on a date with Big Ash.

She protested left and right. "What would I need to date for?" she exclaimed. "I mean, look at all of you. Seriously. Look at you."

A beat of silence in which the men had all shared conspiratorial glances. Abbie rolled her eyes. "What, I hate when you guys do that, group think thing."

Danny had swirled his glass, voice coming out in a smooth velvet purr, in a tone mildly condescending if not charmed by her refusal to acknowledge the obvious. "You still don't seeit." he mused, smiling softly, swinging his arm wide to encompass them all. "What you do to people."

* * *

 

Friday night she came home to the gaggle of them there, busily straightening her clothes as she'd beelined for the stairs but Luke caught her making her escape. "Whoa, hold on there Mills, where you skipping off to without saying hello?"

"Hello," she'd bitten out tersely.

"What time is it?" a voice inquired.

"About half past nine,"

"The garage isn't usually still open at this hour, is it?"

"On a friday, no I don't think Mr. Ash works past five going on the weekend."

"So how come she's only now getting home?"

One by one, each of the men had drifted out to greet her, with the most smug expression on their faces.

"What the hell is this, a slumber party?" she demanded, trying to dodge around the wallthey had formed.

"Slumber parties are for sixteen year old gossiping girls. We, are gossiping grown men," Crane corrected, matter of fact.

"Well?" Nick prodded. "Tell us how much you learned about engines."

"Bite. Me."

A roar of laughter and Nick leaned in, " _Mills_ , I thought we saved _that_ kind talk for behind closed doors." 

"It wasn't a date." she persisted, staring each one of them down before she huffed in exasperation. "But he asked if he could see me tomorrow."

Danny leaned on the wall, pondering, waving his hand in the air thoughtfully. "Well if it wasn't a date, and the garage closes at five, why are you just getting home now?"

"None of your **_damned_** business Reynolds!"

And on cue, the men parted like the red sea, letting her retreat upstairs, and had merrily gone back to whatever the hell they'd been up to before she'd gotten home.

* * *

 

To her credit, or perhaps to spite them all, Abbie had tried to deflect Big Ash. She'd cancelled on him the next day and refused to see the mechanic for a decent while, doing the fixing herself. She was not about to be….set up, like a school girl by her meddling friends, at her age. And she did well, at fixing. She had in fact learned a lot from Ash that day, about transmissions and break-ins, she'd soaked it up like a sponge and was half covered in grease and oil when done. She'd also mistakenly learned, her wandering eyes giving him a cursory sweep, that the name Big Ash had not been in reference to his height. Though she would never admit that to anyone but Sophie when they had time before a rehearsal or out for drinks.

And it was going fine. Well. Until a stormy night. And her car legitimately stoppeddriving in from a workshop and there was no one the men could call, but Big Ash himself.

And then there they were, on a dark, lonely road. Just the two of them.

Soaking wet. __

* * *

That night shouldn't have changed anything but it did. Of course, it did. She thinks of him on almost ever stormy night, she's told him so more than once.

It's after hours on a Friday now, shop closed officially, about an hour and a half ago. But Ash is waiting for her when she knocks on the door and gestures toward that 'old clunker' that gleams with new paint and shines with bright hubcaps and all the other over hauls it's endured. He'd called to tell her, it's fit for a drive.

"Big Ash." she calls, announcing herself. It was warm today. She wears jeans that cut off at her knee, a classic grey tank. Her twists recently unravelled. Bare face, fresh from the shower. His gaze is stern but warm all at once as he beckons her in, opening the door on the supped up ride.

"When are you gonna call me just Ash?"

"When the _Big_ , stops being true," she winks.

* * *

 

The breeze is warm, surprisingly. The car purrs as it goes. They don't play the radio. Instead he hums and sings songs from his childhood tapping a beat with his thumb. He glances over at her ever so often to find her gazing back at him, a soft smile on her face. Falling for Ash was easier than she'd wanted it to be. He's so different from the others. He's always been a lone wolf sort. Except for the occasional visit, he doesn't factor himself into the rotation and constant bonding the others do. Not because he dislikes them, it's just not his way. He has his friends, a life he commands outside of their group,not that the others don't, but they tend to gravitate back to home base. Not Ash. He lets her come for him. And she likes that. The feeling that she's getting away with him. Star gazing or long rides.

And more basically, just rough bare bone bodies that connect. He's got words, yes he does, that she can't pronounce and can't repeat that he rumbles in her ear. But the vowels are long and sweet and carry a music of their own. Calloused fingers, with a gentle, caressing, reverent touch. And hair. Long dark soft strands of night that thread easily through her fingers when he goes down on his knees to worship her. Broad strong chest, with a heart beat steady and strong like a drum, raging like thunder. He's a lot of man, and he's always careful about it, but never hesitant to tell her he wants to see how much of him she can bear. When she's on all fours and he grips her hips. When his mane hangs over her shoulder, swaying back and forth with the rhythmic sway of their bodies. When his hands fondle her and he swallows her moans. Times when she takes him at a leap and they fall, crashing into a bed of grass. The moonlight illuminating her skin as she rides him, head thrown back with abandon and he rejoices in the wildness of her. Holds her under starlit skies and whispers legends in her ears, mapping constellations with his fingers until her eyes glint and she pulls him towards her again.

They stop in the same field, the usual one, not ten minutes from his place, if they decide to wind up there. They talk. Talk about the things that scare them. No one would think it to look at Big Ash but he's got same fears as anyone. Fears of the unknown. Of not living enough. Not leaving a mark. Not having meaning. Of things they can't predict and prevent. Even though they have enough sense between the two of them to accept the impossibilities of life---they're not too brave to worry about it. To feel trepidation.

Money troubles that tore his family apart.

Illness that runs a rampant course.

Perfections that can never be permanent, no matter how many times you tie and retie, or paint and scrap, play that one passage, over, and over, again.

But after, when they have chased away these ghosts, she leans into him, breathing deep and lips grazing his throat. "You christen this car yet?"

* * *

 

It started in the car.

His lips touching down on hers and both of them, greedy, their hands tangling in the others locks, fighting for control, before Abbie started to move to climb on top of him. She bumped the horn with her behind and Ash chuckled at her as he began to lift her tank top. She helps him whip it off and then twines her arms around his neck as he reaches up to cup her breasts. She rolls her hips and grins to herself when she feels him rising up to meet her. There's too much clothing between them but no matter. They like the frustration of it. Working each other up with no relief in sight just yet until they're hurting for it. Wild and reckless with need. "Ash,"

"Abbie," he rasps, cupping her backside and squeezing.

"Does this seat-----there we go" she fumbles for the switch that puts his seat back and gives them a little more leverage. He smiles up at her before he kisses each nipple and licks a streak up to her collar bone. "How do I taste"

"This part, up here. Like starlight," he licks again and his hands begin to move, to the waist of her jeans, flicking the button, pushing them down just a little so he can get inside to her little lacy black shorts, "But this part here," he says, with one finger questing inside, "Like the universe in one warm, sweet centre,"

"Sweet huh?"

"Let's get out of this car,"

* * *

 

Out of the car really meant, just to the hood, where she finds herself laying on now with Ash between her legs. He sent her off the edge once already, now he's just tormenting her here in the open night air with kisses and strokes and threatening to make her howl at the moon. "I need you," she growls at last. He ignores her for a moment, taking his time as he drops his pants and looks her over before returning to her.

"Sing," he encourages.

To finally connect after so much taunting makes her hold her breath, revelling in the fullness of him, the contrast of his hot being inside her and the cold air rippling across her skin. She savours it until he pulls back, and then slides back in. "Yes." she hisses. "Slow, just like that, yes."

He grins at the breathiness in her tone and works slowly, driving her up, bit by bit. He enjoys the ride with her, how she closes in around him and the look of her on the car he withdraws and then with a snap surges back in and she gasps. "Faster?" she nods.

And he makes good on his promise.

Abbie howls at the moon.

* * *

 

In his house she sits on his lap, naked underneath a shirt and his hand grazing her thigh. He kisses her temple. "You are everything." he whispers in a way that almost sounds like a blessing.

"I cherish you, Ash."

"I cherish you, Abbie."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, it went left.
> 
> My writing always does.
> 
> Idk. We get, philosophical here with Orion.

First day of May and the house is quiet. TheatreLit has it's first show of the season, and she's a little amped up because she's directing it. She used to do it, lots, tons, but more recently she does the business end. A little creative suggestion, some mentoring. But she's around in the theatre offices talking about setting up the season, the budget, theatre rentals, some promo. Somehow she found herself the every woman for Sleepy Hollows theatre community. And, thanks to Sophie's dedication to TheatreLit, and Crane's growing audience, and yes, even Calvins snappy reviews---they're starting to draw a delightfully alarming amount of attention.

She just wants tonight to go smoothly. No mishaps, no dropped lines, no…..she bites her lips together as she shuffles through the mail. She finds a black envelope.

Black, with silver and gold filigree. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling. Always a flare for the dramatic this one. Shaking her head ruefully she opens the envelope and a puff of sparkling smoke erupts in her face. She coughs and splutters with it, cursing him and waving it from her face before she looks at the precise scripted hand.

"Break a leg, Madame Director. I'll be watching." she's just finished reading it when the thing turns to ash in her fingers. "Show off," she mutters and starts for the dust pan to sweep up the small pile on the floor. It's always a little odd when the house is near empty. Crane in dress rehearsals all day, Calvin, actually back in the city, tied up for a bit covering some shows. Danny's up at odd hours pouring over files and leads for a criminal that keeps slipping through his fingers and it's driving him insane. He left the house early the other night because he knew he was distracted.

* * *

 

"I just need to…..make some connections, some calls, Abbie, it's just…."

"You need to get him." She'd said warmly. "You need to do your job and protect society. I'm not mad about that, Danny. You come back when you aren't wound so tight."

He'd looked absolutely torn but he'd nodded tightly and packed his bag and kissed her at the door.

* * *

 

She went for a run with Luke this morning but then he had to head in to work. Andy's had a head ache since the night before. She goes up to check on him, knocking gently.

"Andy," she singsongs, pushing the door open. "I've got aspirin."

He's lying on his back on the bed, an arm thrown over his face. He's still in his clothes from the night before.

"You didn't change?"

"Too dead tired," he groans groggily. "I don't know if I'm going to make it tonight Abbie, I'm so sorry."

If Andy's in town, he shows to her events, and likewise if its in her power she sees his. They all do. There for one another if they can be. She touches his brow and frowns. "Are you sick?"

"No, just a migraine," he waves her off. She sits down on the side of the bed, brow furrowed, watching him.

"You don't get migraines,"

"Been staring at that Campanella too long, I guess,"

"When's that for?"

"It's-----" he moves his arm and blinks rapidly, a blank expression settling on his face. "I don't know"

"Okay you do need rest." she offers him the glass of water and aspirin. "Take these and sleep, alright? Don't worry about missing the show, Andy. You're always with me. Oh, guess who sent me a disintegrating card."

Despite his discomfort he begins to chuckle, barely covering a wince. "Good. Could you ask him if he can make my headache disappear?" he chuckles lightly but she frowns.

"I'll try." she says, pecking his forehead. "Relax. Call me if you need anything."

He nods wordlessly and she lets herself out.

* * *

 

"Stop pacing you're making me anxious," Sophie hisses backstage as she gives directions to stage management. "You've done this before, a lot before, stop acting so green"

Abbie wrings her hands. "I don't know what's gotten into me tonight. Short reprieve----"

"Well about two or three years," her friend corrects helpfully.

"Thank you, Sophie." Abbie sighs and rolls her shoulders. "But that's still, relatively short and now I'm wondering if I've managed to forget everything. If I've lead them all astray this whole time."

"You need a drink. I really wish the bar was open right now to get you a drink." Sophie tsks as she goes back to keeping the actors in order. Abbie sticks her tongue out at her and carefully takes the steps down the back of the stage and walks down the hidden hallways around to the front of house, no less comforted by the massive throng of people waiting out here. It's all Sleepy Hollow locals, folks that support and know Sophie, Abbie and of course, their own illustrious theatre darling, Ichabod Crane. But there are also faces she hasn't seen, names she hasn't heard in years since leaving New York.

"If all these people are here, who's on broadway," she mutters to herself, making to retreat back down the hidden hall when she backs into someone. Their hands land comfortingly on her shoulders.

"Quite a to do, Madame Director," A voice, naturally low and hypnotic whispers in her ear.

"In a crowd like this, how did you----"

"You could never be lost in a crowd, Abigail, surely you know this?" he turns her and tips her chin with his finger. "You are a singular beacon of light that no illusion or sleight of hand could out dazzle nor beguile. Nor diminish."

"Don't you have a residency in Vegas to headline?" her eyes crinkle with secret amusement. Orion Angel, renown dare devil illusionist, magician, extravagant and lush, also has a reputation for being well, unpredictable. "Tell me you aren't marooning paying customers right now to be here."

His eyes slant. "And what if I am?"

"No. Seriously, are you?"

"Postponed performance due to personal emergency."

" _I'm a personal emergency?_ People probably think you impaled yourself on your spike bed."

He presses his lips together hard to keep from laughing.

"Or," She goes on, thinking, "That you got lost in one of your magic boxes."

"I will allow this because I can feel your are nervous." he reaches to stroke her cheek. "Breathe. This is not your debut."

"I was telling Sophie earlier I don't know why I'm so worked up"

"You are a perfectionist, in your way, Abigail. It is both an admirable and vexing trait."

"Vexing?"

"Sometimes, you just need to let things be," Molten eyes glint at her from beneath his dark lashes. "Give in to the unknown,"

"Orion….." she begins, her own voice sounding far away and dull as if under water, the world begins to blur at the edges, ever so slightly. "Are you hypnotizing me,"

"Not if you keep fighting me I'm not," he cajoles lightly.

"The show's about to start, I can't be away from myself,"

He breaks eye contact and grips her hand solidly in his. And like that, she feels her self snap back into alertness. She eyes him warily. He's hailed as a brilliant commander of the stage who can do the unthinkable before your very eyes. A mastermind of the power of ones own psyche. But every now and again her mind gets away with her and she's given to the notion that there might be something….not entirely natural about him, or perhaps something fundamentally too aware. She asked him once if he can talk to spirits ----on a lark, teasing---but he'd merely given her a look and then changed the subject.

"I'm not always entirely sure I should trust you," she admits as the doors open and people begin filing in.

He shrugs as if this is common place, but keeps his warm secure grip on her. "Trusting others is more so about trusting yourself, at times. How well do you know your innermost fears and thoughts, how true are you to your own heart---that you have nothing to hide?"

She wants to argue with his logic, because for one it sounds like one of his mystic entreatments that he uses at his shows but he shoots her a devilish smile.

"Abigail don't you see half of our fun is finding our boundaries. And then pushing against them until they break." He nods ahead of her where the path has cleared. Everyone else has gone in the usher waits with a benevolent smile. " Or," he continues, drawing reference to her ridiculous jitters about tonights show, "breaking them again. After you."

* * *

 

Applause. Praise. An exciting amount for Crane. Some chatter and approving nods about her direction. An inquiry or two for these other big town critics trickling in about her choices, how long she's been in theatre. A passing unexpected inquiry after her mother.

"Lori Mills daughter, right? brilliant pianist, keen eye to paint. Your father was in set, right? So where did your gift for directing come from? Who are your influences?"

Abbie almost says, music and visual art strike too close to home, to a tragedy and the tedious coping afterwards. The things she has long since healed, she's sure, but doesn't like to be reminded.

She says instead, "Craft. I've always been fascinated with the journey of bringing projects to fruition, in whatever capacity. There's a profound thrill in starting from ground zero, and following through."a beaming smile from the person interviewing, nodding enthusiastically, it's the sort of well put together answer that'll read well on the pages. Encompassing but vague at once. Gives the reader the sense they can connect to the artistic mind without having to get terribly involved at all. Accessible.

"Tell us about TheatreLit."

"Oh, I'd better leave that to the founder," Abbie deflects politely, gesturing to Sophie just now emerging from her own throng of congratulating faces. "This is the key visionary behind TheatreLit Collective. She just lets me come out to play from time to time."

Sophie flashes a winning smile and nudges her. "This one is entirely too modest. She's been at this for ages, if you've done your homework you know that. She's a go to, need to know around here, and I'm sure beyond if you want to network, or need ideas. Abbie Mills is a treasure to Sleepy Hollow arts community and a valued member of TheatreLit." In the midst of that rousing round of praise Abbie slips away, glimpsing Orion waiting at the door. He glances over at her and gives a short nod, gesturing towards outside. She signals to him to give her five minutes while she goes tearing backstage and down into the dressing room. Flurry of clothes and half naked folks and makeup wipes and a hollering when she darkens the doorway. Cheering and clapping and she laughs and calls many thank yous across the room.

"All of you, thank you. I worried about doing this after not being, so active in it for a while, but, I should have known I was in good hands with you. With all of you. Brilliant job. They're saying good things about you out there." more clapping and a few rush her for hugs but Abbie's got her eyes on Crane wiping off his eyeliner and rosy cheeks.

"Oh poo," she pouts as she draws near. "I like that look on you."

A sideways glance and a smirk. "Mascara and eye liner attractive to you, Miss Mills?"

"Only on you. Great job out there tonight. Orion enjoyed it."

"Oh that flash and glam master of hoodwink." he mutters in faux irritation.

Abbie hands him another makeup wipe. "They used waterproof huh."

"Miss Caroline in costuming was working out of her own kit. I think it was…..Marc, Jacobs?"

An aborted snort of laughter. "Oh good luck getting that off then,"

"Your optimism is very helpful."

"I'm headed out now with Angel. That alright?"

"You always make this point of asking us whether or not we're 'alright' when you wish to give another their time. Do you expect us to refuse? And what if we do? Would you deprive them?"

Abbie blinks, wholly unprepared for the question. "Crane---"

"I only mean to say, we are all where we are, because we _want to be_ , Abbie. Adults. You don't need our permission for anything. Though it does endear us all that you consider us so deeply."

"You really just like to stir me up for no good reason." she huffs, releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Keeps you on your toes."

* * *

 

Orion walks with her hand swinging in his in companionable silence through the darkening streets, slowing only when they approach the only Cathedral in town. Half finished. It's a new structure, an homage to intricate 17th century architecture but refreshed. Even in the evening light, they can see the dull glimmer of the stained glass windows reflecting the moons glow. "We're not going in there," she hears herself say and Orion turns to her amused.

"Who said anything about going in?"

"It's night, it's under construction and unsafe," she continues with a growing sense of dread.

"I maintain, Abigail, who suggested going in?"

"I know you were thinking it----your fascination with 'out of bounds' is what your whole livelihood is built on."

He tugs her close. "That it is," he confides. "I'm not very satisfied with the world as it is presented to me. I suppose that's my drive to defy it." He keeps walking with her pinned to his side and turning swiftly lifts her up in his arms and continues walking. She catches on a half beat too late he's marched them directly into the half finished Cathedral. She wants to yell at him but she's awe struck by the shadows shifting and dancing. The dappled colours on the flooring. And she's also afraid that any sudden movement and something might fall, break, cave in. You're not supposed to walk into construction areas willy nilly for a reason.

"Orion."

"Sssh." he gently lowers her, grasping her hand again. "Sometimes I think half done is more beautiful than complete." She leans against him, heart thumping a little with the knowledge that being caught here is probably going to result in an arrest or fine or both. "When something is, in progress, there is hope for it. Dreams. The potential for change. It's life, Abigail. Life, in itself, is half finished."

"We're all born, Orion. We all die."

"But it's the how. The in-between. The indeterminate stretch…..it's all of the possibilities for joy and disaster. For routes to change. Rules to break. There is room to be beyond, what we know and see."

"Only so far," she retorts, starting to feel a chill. "There are things in life that are permanent, fixtures, that leave everything changed."

* * *

 

Diagnoses, for example.

A relentless effort to recreate, recapture and maintain, happy.

Tie, and retie.

And tie, again.

* * *

 

"Do you know, why we do what we do, Abbie? beguile and transport?"

"The human condition," she responds. "Imagination and unknowns and freedoms, to feel. To journey."

He nods and bends to kiss her hair. "Our lives are bracketed, bookended by boundary, Abigail."

"It'swhat lies between that we can bend," she replies, feeling slightly hopeful.

"Exceed, break." his breath warm and excited on her ear. There's electricity dancing about him and her heart races. Orion Angel, man of mystery and intrigue and singularly self tasked to steal into your imagination and gift you wild flights of fancy, his fingers begin to wedge inside her coat pulling her close. " _Demolish_ ," 

* * *

 

Abbie's never been intimate with Orion in that way.

He moves slowly with her. From the day they met--- an interesting quasi road trip to Vegas taken with a few of the fellas at home and Sophie as a female confidante---and they'd gone to see the hottest most renown magic show there was, he'd picked her out of the crowd to make her levitate. Hypnosis, she thinks because she can't remember the act. But everyone else gasped and clapped her shoulders after. He'd apparently flown her across the room and she hadn't noticed. Deep in subconscious slumber.

And after the show, he'd approached her, of all things saying he was curious of her mind. The way it double locked and had pushed back against his ritual coaxing but still blew open unto such abundant freedom when he finally broke through. Orion has regarded her, curiously since.

She feels a little other worldly when she's with him. They talk and exist in abstracts and in some deeper, fickle, strange way, connect.

When they leave the half finished Cathedral they wander toward the bridge that crosses the lake and lean there, watching the quiet dark greenery of the near by park. Slowly an arm winds around her waist and she feels the warmth of him on her back. His lips brush her neck as he speaks. Musing on if life perhaps is just a long, extravagant dream. If when we sleep, is when we truly live. Sometimes he drones and she lets him because his voice soothes and ripples her skin at once. She turns in his arm mid speech and he halts, baring his teeth softly in a smile.

"I am boring you."

"Yes," she admits with her eyes alight. She reaches up a hand to touch his face and watches him leaning into it, holding it there.

"One of the greatest mysteries I have ever known is not whether or not I will survive a tank locked under water." he says. "It is how you…..you…." he trails off at a loss for words and turns his gaze heavenwards. As if he hopes to find answers among the stars. "You are the most completely, and wholly, dual, person, I know. Have known, ever."

She wrinkles her nose at him, curious.

"You are private yet open. You are….free spirited and wild but contained. You are, the perfect composition of light and dark. And it astounds me, how the opposites within you do not war with each other."

Abbie's skin feels hot the way it usually does around him. He is always fascinated and studying her in a way that makes her feel rather extraordinary and rare. "I guess I have a…." she thinks of all of the men she loves, and her friends, and their vastly varied personalities and what she learns and shares with them all and each other. Even now with Orion, he feeds an odd wonder of the world that she doesn't usually bother to explore. "Balanced, or I lead a very…..varied and fulfilling life."

"It is not the life that makes you, Abigail. You know that, don't you? It is you, who makes it."

That's a thought for her to ponder, and she would wonder more about it out loud except that's when he decides to kiss her. Slow, but building to a fire that feels as though it could become actual flame. And with Orion Angel who knows. His hands grip her waist and set her on the ledge of the bridge, holding her easily as her arms twine around him and she spreads her legs so he can be closer to her, press flushed against her. Between kisses, he whispers, soft, little, key words. Ones that probe deep somewhere into the psyche of all humans or just her, who knows. He withdraws and holds her gaze and repeats them, softly, over and over.

"Do you trust me" he breaks to ask.

"Yes," she answers through a haze, be it the rolling tide of hypnosis coming in or lightheadedness from their kissing however, she's unsure.

"Give in," he entreats. "If you trust me, Abigail. Be with me here, give in." She acquiesces once more and he goes back in. Their lips fit and he leans into her, harder, more until she feels her balance tip over the railing and it crosses her mind, in a far away corner, to be alarmed of falling into the lake. The bad angle, the rocks at the bottom---a head injury.

But there is only him. Arms wrapped securely around her from behind. Horizontal above the water. And they are floating. Hovering, just an inch above it. How did he move so fast she thinks but Orion whispers huskily. "Stay with me." he pleads. "Don't question just be, stay here, be light."

She keeps breathing, deep, regular breaths and focuses on the reassuring surface of his chest beneath her back. His arms holding her. And lets herself, her senses, her mind become enthralled in the night sky glittering above, and the sound of rushing water below. The rhythm of his own breathing, matching her own. "Stay," he says softy.

She relaxes and lets herself sink into him. Trusts in his ability to hold them both and forces the impossibility of it from her mind because the minute she does that this…..trick or whatever it is will falter. "Take my hand." he instructs and she does, lacing their fingers together she closes her eyes and feels them begin to move.

 _Let it Let it Let it_. She chants to herself, thinking of endless expanses and barriers meant to be broken and defied and suddenly feels when they begin to lower, landing on the grass, just off to the side. She stays there a moment, lying on top of him and speaks to the fathomless night.

"I don't understand how you did that. How we did that. Did I dream it?"

He shudders beneath her, shaking with laughter. "We are limitless if we believe it. Never forget that." He releasesher hand and she rolls off and lies side by side with him. He turns to look at her, caressing her face. "You can have it all. Every unfathomable, unbelievable, impossible thing, if you are fearless enough to want it." 

Gazing at him Abbie remembers, not for the first time, that she loves his eyes. They're unusual in the way they glint. The way they slit with mischief and mystery. She reaches back for him.

" _Want it,_ Abigail." his voice is low and serious. But warm, and fierce. " _Want it. All of it. Every day_."

"And what if I want _you_ "

Orion Angel kisses her.

Hypnosis, she reminds herself. Hypnosis is what makes her think he has wings.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly things happen in this fic world
> 
> because it's ridiculous.
> 
> My logic will sometimes be flawed.
> 
> but hopefully you can see the hilarity in how absurd I'm being.
> 
> More is....more, right?
> 
> And sometimes I will inject my own favourites......

"Last seen in Washington---damnit." Danny tears his gaze away from the computer and the multiple windows opened up, scrambling among the files on his desk. "House meeting, what the hell," he mutters as he reads the text and begins dialling back the number.

"Crane I'm in the middle of a case----"

"It's an emergency----"

"What kind of emerge----" He cuts off abruptly and listens his eyes widening before he closes windows, packs up his computer and files and begins heading for the door, locking up the office as he goes.

* * *

 

_Ring_

**_Crink!_ **

Andy shudders as he falls out of rhythm, the rippling passage he was working on falling into instant disarray. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes, pushing back against the building pressure in his head. _It's been a while_ _since I've had my eyes checked._ He thinks as he reaches for the phone vibrating and jittering its way across the top of the piano. He's on the University campus, he's doing a concert there this evening but----"He knows I have this seminar tonight." He grabs for the phone, frowning. He reads the message a few times and then sighing heavily begins to pack up.

* * *

 

"Pleasure doing business with you!" Nick chimes, counting the wad of bills he got in exchange for that small antiquated sculpture when his pocked jolts ferociously. "House must be on fire," he chuckles and decides to dial. "What's got the flouncing tart all bunched up"

"Flouncing tart---" Crane starts, thinking to be affronted but then barrels on. On the other end of the line Nick furrows his brow. It's not like Crane to not rise to the bait. Half their fun is ribbing each other. "Listen, Pirate, we have an impending situation."

"All ears Father Time."

"You're getting very good at those,"

" _Thank you_!"

A barely suppressed chuckle, "Just get here. Best to tell you all at once."

* * *

 

Luke walks in last into the living room, his steps slowing as he sees the gaggle of them there. "We're all here for Crane's house emergency then?"

"Mr. Morales, have a seat."

"I don't feel good about this at all." Luke mumbles as he wedges himself in the couch between Nick and Danny. Andy sits at in a single chair trying hard to focus on the moment at hand.

"Miss Mills has gone to the airport." Crane announces without preamble and the men launch into a mild panic.

"What for?"

"Airport?"

"She didn't mention a trip"

"If you would all cease you're rabbling. She got a call this morning. Surprise visit."

"Orion just left didn't he."

"Calvin coming back so soon?"

"Neither Angel or Riggs, I'm afraid." and looks pointedly at all of them before realization dons in their eyes.

"Oh." Luke groans.

Danny huffs. "Seriously?"

"And you couldn't muddle with it?" Nick jokes. Crane shoots him a glare.

"Muddle with it?"

"You know----the way you're always screwing around with Calvin's schedule."

"Mr. Hawley I---"

"Just tell us which of us is getting canceled this week."

"As it happens, none of us."

They all share perplexed glances. Andy leans back casually in the chair, intrigued.

"It's an extended visit." Crane continues cautiously. "For….'reasons'"

"Crane," Luke presses.

The door opens, as if on cue. They can hear Abbie chattering and laughing at the door. The other familiar, male jovial voice. Andy rises from his seat first, leading the small charge to the front and smiling, shakes the hand of the other man there.

It's not that they dislike him, quite the contrary. He does however sometimes monopolize her time when he's here, because his visits are few.  And theirs, if he has time to plan something outrageous. He also tends to carry in his wake a lot of strange unfortunate events. The house makes eerie noises when he's there. And he tends to travel with an array of oddities. They like to think his profession something of a joke, if only to alleviate the unease he brings to them.

But it unexpectedly fascinates Abbie. Over the years they have all found themselves on a jaunt in the middle of the woods at night. Minding the car while he ventures forth. He's a good man, a fun one, but he rivals Crane for eccentricity and Hawley with his affinity for strange artifacts and myths.

"Andy!" he calls happily and then waves to the rest of them, cautiously emerging into the hall.

He's usually just a whirlwind.

A gust in and out.

But that's an awful lot of bags.

"Hey man!" Danny greets, striding forward to offer his own welcome, although there is a hint of unease in the air among all of them. Abbie is latched on his arm happily, glad to have him. And they can all appreciate that at least, how happy she is to have one of them come home, come visit, be there with her. They're happy so long as she's happy. But those are an _awful lot of bags._

"Danny Reynolds! Hawley! What a welcome wagon, how are you guys?"

"Well, well," they all sound off still regarding him curiously. It's also not entirely like him to surprise them. That's Orion's department. He shoots them a wide smile. They can't help but smile back, he's a friend at the end of the day, he makes Abbie happy, they all get along---he just brings with him some bizarrehappenings but---- ** _why so many bags_** \----

"You'll have to take the couch," Abbie apologizes. "Until you get settled."

The men glance at one another again, wondering who's going to be headed back home this week so their guest can have a bed. He grins, eyes crinkling at her. "No problem Abbie, I've slept in worse conditions."

"I'm sure you have. Do we have leftovers?" she calls, addressing the group. "Let's get something to eat and then we can have a look at some listings."

"L-l-listings?" usually stoic and cool Danny hears himself stammering.

"Sudden life altering circumstance," Abbie explains, giving all of them pleading looks. She's as surprised as they are but infinitely understanding, so they will be too. It's just the reality of what's happening is beginning to sink in. And that takes a little mind bending on their part.

"He's looking for a house." Crane summarizes primly and the reality has finally sunk.

"Seriously?!" Nick exclaims "You're gonna be living here? full time?"

"Hope you don'tmind but I might need some help unloading a few um….sensitive bits of cargo."

Nick beams. "I'm sure I have a buyer!"

Luke blinks. "Well. Um. I don't do night time jogs. Anymore. Okay? I…..no. But we can have a morning routine."

Danny begins to chuckle. "Ooooh kay, well, this is, exciting. I've gotta continue hunting down leads on my case but I might just pick your brain for anyone you've encountered."

Andy rubs his temple and starts for the stairs. "Sorry I'm not good company right now, headache, but we'll talk later alright? I know a cellist that's listing his place."

A frown. "You alright? I might have something in my bag---"

"Ah!" Crane interrupts. "I think Mr. Brooks will stick to his conventional medicines, thank you. Come let me reacquaint you with the house wares, where we can put your things."

Abbie's heart softens. She'd expected a little more uproar about the development. "Thanks Crane." she says warmly. He offers her one in turn.

The man hefts his bag and calls, "Lead the way."

Crane bobs his head and sweeps his arm down the hall. "Welcome to your new hometown, Mr. Dean Winchester."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just nonsense.
> 
> Basically. I think the men have gotten use to Dean visiting over the years, and while they like him, he mucks with the schedule with his unprecedented visits. 
> 
> And he tends to trail his supernatural profession with him.
> 
> I think on occasion they've probably all encountered something while in Dean's company that they staunchly denied happening come daybreak. 
> 
> But.....whatever.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny's overworked with the case and Abbie goes over to see him.
> 
> more vague plot points.

Danny sits at his desk, muttering to himself. "Okay so he was last seen…."

"Five minutes ago, on your laptop screen,"

Danny jolts to his feet, hand to his waist in a flurry before remembering where he is, registering the voice. "Abbie I keep telling you don't sneak up on me." He grouses. From where she leans on his front door, arms folded and chuckling she saunters forward.

"Haven't seen you it feels like forever." she explains, dropping her keys in the dish he keeps by the front door and to over to where he's set up camp at his desk, just off from the living room. She's not often out at Danny's place---it always feels distinctly like a work space or investigations office, because he has such an ingrained habit of bringing work home with him. He can't seem to help it, and she gets why. Sometimes it's hard to draw that line between home life and work life. But watching Danny agonize over this case had been making her uneasy. He's always got bags under his eyes and a sort of nervous twitch. He doesn't talk much about who he's tracking or why. Doesn't want work to interfere with their time together---which is why when he starts getting consumed at the office he tends to retreat to his place, keep things compartmentalized.

But she's been missing him. Thinks he's over worked, so, she bought groceries, and decided she's coming over tonight to take care of him. Cook him dinner. Help him relax.

Danny notices the bag she'd set on the floor so quietly and he wonders how he didn't hear her come in at all. "Either I'm getting slack or you're getting stealthy."

Abbie wrinkles her nose and tugs his collar playfully when he draws near. "Let's go with stealthy."

"If that's the case I'm gonna be tracking you next."

"Oh," Abbie grins. "If you're lucky. Now, help me put these away."

"Abs, I've been missing you, you know that, right?"

"I'm not leaving Danny. But I won't distract you either, I promise." He pauses and looks down at her, small smirk playing across his lips.

"Yeah? What are you gonna do here then while I mull over files?" he reaches out, letting his arms snake around her waist and pulling her close. She smiles and tips her head back to look at him.

"Well, we're gonna eat. Got a fantastic recipe from a guy at the grocery today."

A quirked brow.

"What"

"Oh come on, a guy just _happens_ to mention a great recipe to you?"

Abbie shrugs, undeterred and leans up to press her lips to his. It's been days. Weeks. " _Oh_ ," she moans as her lips collide with his he returns it with fervour, and she feels her body start to heat. Danny always kisses with fire. He can change gears in an instant and sometimes he'sa little rough, but she likes that, the way he nips at her lips and he tugs her closer against the already growing erection. "Danny, the food," she laughs breathlessly between kisses.

"You can't possibly expect that you would kiss me and I'd be able to think of eating anything but you," he growls darkly.

"Danny," she admonishes because as much as she wants to be with him, she really came over to take care of him a little while he's stressed out over this case. He's always there for her and the fellas, she wants to support him but he's found that spot on her neck now and "-- ** _-Oh_**."

"I've missed you babe. Every minute, but I could spend hours doing things to you and wouldn't get any leads."

"That's why," she breathes, trying to regain her composure. "That's why you should stop, Danny, and eat a proper meal, and I'll just be here with you while you-- ** _-Danny!_** "

"Cook after."

"Danny,"

His fingers begin fiddling with the button on her jeans. "Just imagine you've taken me to an all you can eat buffet."

"Danny," her voice comes out in a whine as she feels him pressing against her, inhaling, mouthing against her through her soaked panties.

"For me babe?" he asks. "You shouldn't have."

"When you look at me like you could devour me what do you expect," she snaps and catches his twinkling gaze. "Your work," she protests half heartedly as he grips her behind in his hands.

"To be honest, I think being with you will help me a whole lot more than food. I've got…..oh you smell delicious."

Abbie looks down at him kneeling before her and pulls his head back. She bends down to his ear. "Tie me up," she whispers. Danny blinks at her as if he's misheard.

"What---"

She bites her lip. "Don't go easy."

* * *

 

In her thong and nothing else her hands are bound in front of her and she's kneeling on the bed, her hands resting on the headboard and Danny's naked and got his hands on her backside, rubbing soothing circles over the place he just smacked. "You okay babe?" he whispers. "You sure you're alright, you tell me---"

Abbie looks over her shoulder at him, flushed and panting, "Again, Danny." he winds up and lets his hand fly and she lets the air escape her in a rush. "Do you like me like this," she asks, wiggling her backside. He runs his hands over her and then bending down places a kiss on the areas he's hit. "Don't hold back on me Danny."

He pulls away and wrapping his arms around her from behind kisses her shoulder, along her jaw line, nibbles her earlobe and then kisses her temple. "Thank you for doing that for me," he says, reaching up with one hand he runs his thumb along her nipple and she arches eagerly into his hand, throwing her head back she bares her throat and feels his teeth graze her there.

"It wasn't just for you," she assures him, turning her head for a kiss. "I like when you can let go with me. You're too starched."

She feels him chuckling against her back as his other hand takes up the opposite breast. "More starched then Crane?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous." she laughs. "No one is more starched then---" his right hand abandons post to trail between her legs, lazily tip toeing through the forest of curls and lower, just glancing off where she needs him to be. "Damnit,"

"Ssh," he whispers, pressing another kiss to her throat and he glides his finger down through her dampness and pushes inwards. She inhales sharply as his hand begins to move. "God you're beautiful Abs." his voice low in her ear. Her arms begin to ache from being restrained and as if sensing her discomfort he uses the other hand to deftly loosen the knot. She exhales with relief and reaches back to stroke his face. "You like this?" he asks. She nods breathlessly. "You did something for me, what can I do for you, tell me babe."

She thrashes her head from side to side.

"Speechless?" he cajoles and Abbie grunts in annoyance as she rocks into his hand. "Show me then," he encourages and Abbie grabs his hand, guiding him in speed and then pulls him away bringing his hand up to his own mouth. He leans forward and sucks her essence off his finger and licks his lips. "Is that what you want babe?" he purrs, turning her around. "Want me to taste you."

Her skin is flushed and her hair is mussed she drapes her arms around his shoulders and whispers in his ear. "Since you wouldn't let me feed you otherwise, yes."

He kisses her, hard, pushing her back against the headboard. They battle for a minute, fighting for dominance, and it's just the sort of fight he needs, that sort of resistance. He loves that she's not caged in by her size. That she's so strong and can put him in his place and match him fire for fire in so many ways. "Down," she growls between when their lips collide.

"That an order" he asks, although he's already pulling away and Abbie slides down to a sitting position and invitingly spreads her legs.

"A direct, order, Agent Reynolds."

He reintroduces his hand, first, before adding his lips, and her hands scrabble for something to hold as he drives her to her peak, over the edge, and relentlessly keeps licking and stroking until she's crashing again.

When he sheaths himself in her he's so hard and thick and it's been a while she needs a moment to adjust. "You okay babe?"

"Mmmm" she moans indulgently and nods her head, eyes closed as he begins to thrust. "Danny,"

"Abbie Mills," He continues to drive into her.

"Don't stop,"

"Wouldn't dare."

"Yes. **_Daniel. Yes_**."

He chases her when she hits her limit and lets go with a cry and her eyes blown wide and holds onto the image until he's free falling too.

* * *

 

He's curled protectively around her in the bed, kissing her hair and running his hands along her arms. "Thank you."

"Mmmmm, for?"

"Are you kidding me? For being you. You'rea blessing in my life Abbie really."

She scoffs. "All I did was show you a good time." she teases.

"No, what you give me when we're together." he bites his lips together. "You wake me up and clear my head. You remind me of things to fight for. Reasons why I do this job."

"For sex?" she queries, brows knit in a deliberate expression of confusion that makes him chuckle and swat at her.

"No. For you. For upholding the law and keeping people safe, like you. Everyone deserves to live a full life, without fear and without danger, but you, Abbie, if there's no one else I can save, it's going to be you."

Reaching up she lays a finger on his lips. "Ssh." she says, meeting his gaze. "Don't think of things like that, Danny. I'm safe, and you're always doing a good job. And nothing is ever going to happen to me. I'm not going anywhere."

He smiles and kisses her but then a growling noise rumbles between them. Abbie chortles. "So maybe you _do_ need food after all, hmm?"

Danny chuckles into her hair. "Maybe I do,"

* * *

 

Showered and dressed they move around the kitchen, Abbie leads, he follows. He's sautéing the mushrooms and reaching for the bottle of wine when he asks, "so, what was the helpful chef's name?"

"Hmm?" at the island she chops onions and peppers.

"The dude who just happened to give you cooking tips," he teases.

Abbie frowns "Oh I don't know Danny, something with an M."

"An M?"

"Yeah---what. No," she smiles as she dumps the onions in the pan.

"What?"

"You're trying to connect the grocery guy to your case." she accuses playfully.

"Am not."

"Are so."

Danny pouts for a moment while he moves the mushrooms and onions around. "I mean what I said earlier Abbie, I will keep you safe."

"I know that Danny. I believe that. But you're being paranoid. What are the odds your suspect has turned up in Sleepy Hollow?"

Screwing up his mouth Danny huffs. "Okay, alright, you're right,"

"I usually am. What is the name of the guy you're looking for, anyway."

"He's got a few names. But his true identity is Van Brunt. He used to be on our side, an informant, double agent. But someone greased his wheel and he went rogue, started working full time for a crime family. But, as their wont to do, he crossed them too. The gang is after him, he's got secrets and a lot of valuable information that can't fall in the wrong hands. He's a wildcard, and we don't know who he's willing to trade with. We need to get him first before the other goons catch up to him and outfit him in cement shoes."

Abbie eyes him thoughtfully. "Well, I doubt it in the company I keep, but ifI come across anything Danny, I'll let you know."

Danny turns from the pan and wraps his arms tightly around her abruptly, winding her. "Coming across anything is the absolute _last_ thing that I want. He's dangerous."

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a drill. this is happening.
> 
> DOn't worry. we will see ALL THE MEN. 
> 
> Dear Heaven what have I gotten myself into. :/


End file.
